


I Did Nothing

by Secre



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-16 05:08:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 111,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5815420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Secre/pseuds/Secre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry James Potter walks into Hogwarts for the first time, Minerva realises that she made a huge mistake in leaving him with the Dursley's all those years ago. If she does something now, will she be able to change things? And will the Lion and the Snake be able to work together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Did Nothing

**Chapter 1: I did nothing**

I remember the day we left the Potter boy with those muggles as if it were yesterday. I'd watched them all day and I knew that there was something wrong, I knew they shouldn't be entrusted with the life of the Boy Who Lived. They couldn't even be trusted with their own child, let alone one of the magical world. Their boy was a terror; spoiled and vile. I remember my fear as I recollected Lily Potter talking to James about her sisters' hatred of all things magical, of how she was taunted and bullied as a child. And I wondered whether her views had changed, I feared that the Potter boy would be facing the same abuse. And I did nothing.

I remember how horrified I was that Albus was even suggesting we entrust such a small, precious boy who had already come through so much with those people. I remember how I objected. I objected because they were nothing like us, would never be able to understand him, would never be able to help him grow. And I remember Albus' response like it was yesterday. _Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?_ His exact words. And because it was Albus, the infallible, great Albus, I believed him.

We left a small child on the front step of those muggles on a bitterly cold November night, with nothing but a blanket and a letter to protect him from harm. I knew it was wrong, how could I not. You don't leave a tiny child asleep on a doorstep, you wouldn't even do that to a niffler. But we did. Myself, Albus Dumbledore and Hagrid all left that boy alone on a doorstep in a world that would never recognise him. Why? Because we trusted Albus, we have always trusted Albus. He is the leader of what is light and good in our world, he is the greatest wizard of our century and we would have followed him off the ends of the earth had he asked. We trusted him. Now I am wondering if we made a mistake.

Did he know what would happen? Did he actually intend for those muggles to be so cruel, so abusive, so neglectful? Can I actually believe that? Or was he just naïve. Did he think that Petunia would look kindly on the small child because she was her sister's orphaned babe? Because if he did he was sorely mistaken, and I can't believe that it has taken me til now to find out. Surely the man must have checked on him? Surely he went to make sure that everything had actually worked out the way he wanted? Surely the wizard who we would all die for didn't simply abandon the boy with no chance of salvation? Surely he couldn't have?

We knew that there were more cases of accidental magic in the boy than would normally be expected for one so young, and I just assumed that Albus would be keeping track of what was going on. We all know that accidental magic happens most frequently when a child is upset, scared or angry, but it happens for other reasons as well. I assumed that it was simply because he was the child of two of the brightest young wizards I have had the pleasure and misfortune of teaching. James may have been powerful, but he didn't always use it in the most mature of ways. I suppose Albus made him Head Boy to try to teach him some level of responsibility, it didn't have much of an effect at the time. Now though, I look back and wish I hadn't treated him so harshly.

I couldn't believe it when Hagrid told me that the boy had no idea that he was a wizard, no knowledge of Hogwarts, no memories of his parents. His relatives had given him nothing. And when he said that Potter had been told Lily and James had been killed in a car crash, I wanted to apparate straight there and knock some sense into them myself. Lily and James in a car crash? It's absurd. Hagrid repeated their words to me. _We swore we'd stamp it out of him!_ I took it as metaphorical and though it made my blood boil that they thought of the hero of the wizarding world as some mere freak, I did nothing. I thought maybe, perhaps Dumbledore had been right. Maybe this was better for Potter. He hadn't grown up with an over-inflated ego and so would perhaps be slightly less inclined towards to his father's antics whilst at the school.

But when Hagrid knocked on the castle door and I swung it open I was almost rendered speechless. It took all my wits to give out the usual welcoming speech to the first years and I have to admit I was a little more brusque than usual. He was so small. First years are always small but the Potter boy was tiny in comparison to the rest of them. He was pale, thin and tiny. He looked so defenceless. His glasses were crooked on his nose and he was still squinting as if they weren't helping him to see that well. I turned away and started walking before I was caught staring, I couldn't be seen to show that kind of weakness.

But even so, I couldn't miss the slight limp as he followed the rest of his classmates, the limp that the Weasley boy had clearly missed. There was no mistaking a Weasley and it seemed those two had become friends. The Boy Who Lived could certainly have made a worse choice providing this young Weasley didn't follow in the footsteps of the twins. Having two set of pranksters in the school at once would be worse than when the Marauders were at large. And the Weasley's always ended up in Gryffindor, every last one of them so this one would be my responsibility as well. But the Potter boy…who could have treated this boy so badly. And how could I have done nothing?

I watched him as he walked towards the Sorting Hat after I called his name. I paid no attention to the sudden hissing of whispers and craning of necks as all of the other students heard the words POTTER, HARRY. I was too busy watching the way he walked, the slight stumble to his gait suggesting either weakness or pain. I couldn't take my eyes away from how gaunt he was, how thin. The hat never fit any of our first years, but it looked obscene on Potter. I looked at Albus briefly to find him scrutinising Potter in much the same way as I have been, but unlike my own there's no concern in the older man's eyes. Instead there's the trademarked Dumbledore twinkle.

My own house erupts as Potter is sorted into Gryffindor with the Weasley twins being the most raucous as would be expected, but still I pay them no mind. I don't even glare. I'm too fixated on the head teacher, the man I have given my life to willingly and without complaint. The man I have served. He's smiling. He's smiling like a kid with a new toy and he's looking straight at the Potter boy. With that twinkle. He can't have known. He can't have. It's not possible. And I did nothing. I look towards the Gryffindor table as I call out TURPIN, LISA and I can't miss the flinch the boy gives as he's clapped on the back by another student. By the time Albus gives his speech, which is just as crazy as he usually manages I'm fuming. I let Potter be placed in the hands of those muggles, I trusted the man sat at that table with that damnable twinkle.

And I did nothing. Am I still to do nothing now?


	2. An Uneasy Alliance

**Chapter 2: An Uneasy Alliance**

The rest of the meal, I can't help but look at the Potter boy. I fear I made poor company as far as the rest of the staff were concerned; both Hagrid and Pomona tried talking to me but quickly gave up due to my distraction. I watch the shock that is so evident on his face at the food that appears and the apparent reluctance to start eating, I see the way his head is kept down and there is none of the exuberance I have come to expect from the excitement of the Sorting feast in his face. His eyes are wary and afraid. Lily's eyes are terrified. It is Severus' sneer that finally shakes me from my preoccupied gaze.

"Already star stuck by our new celebrity, Minerva? I would have expected better of you. But then, I suppose having the precious Boy Who Lived sorted into your house is a feather in your cap, isn't it?

Over the years I have worked with him, I have grown used to Severus' snide mannerisms and even learnt to fence words with the man despite his outward demeanour. I've never been entirely sure why Albus trusts him so much, why he gave a verified Death Eater a second chance, but unlike many I have only questioned him once on the matter. His answer was vague and imprecise like many of Albus' answers are but he made it very clear that he trusted Severus with his own life and the lives of his students. It was also clear that he expected us to do the same. The man is cold-hearted and bitter, but he's got an exceptionally clever mind and is without a doubt a master of his art. And I have come to trust him, despite everything. Seeing Potter tonight though, I begin to wonder how much Albus really does know.

The shock I felt must have been evident in my face, as an unfamiliar flash of concern fleets briefly across the younger mans face before quickly being hidden by his characteristic sneer.

"Look at him, Severus," I say faintly.

"I do not wish to see James Potter's reincarnation any more often than I have to," he spits out venomously. "I have seen all I need to see. He is everything his father was, more's the pity."

For a brief second I am taken by an extreme impulse to shake the man until he can see past his petty resentment and long-held grudges. I refrain. Partially because it would be highly unprofessional and partly because I can, in part, see where he is coming from. The Gryffindor trio made his younger years a living hell and he is now too scarred and tainted to ever move past it. But he needs to see that he is not looking at James.

I glance back at my new Gryffindor just in time to catch him clutching his head as if it had spontaneously caught fire. The pain in his eyes is so intense that I actually look towards the Weasley twins in case they've tried to pull a prank that's gone wrong, but they're too busy tormenting some other first years. I have no doubt they're telling horror stories, probably about Severus…or maybe the Forbidden Forest.

"Looks like the boy already has the desire for attention that his father had in abundance," the drawl from beside me is enough to know that Severus caught the motion too. What he missed is how quickly Potter moved to reassure the eldest Weasley that nothing was wrong. I didn't. But then he looks at me again and that uncharacteristic expression of concern once more flashes across his face.

"Minerva, I am of more than half a mind to call Poppy over. You could easily be mistaken for one of the ghosts at present. If it is merely foolish Gryffindor pride that is keeping you at this table…"

"No, Severus," I interrupt whatever threat he was about to utter. "Look at him beyond James's face. Look at him as if he were just a newly sorted first year without the name. Look at him as if he had been sorted into Slytherin. As if he were a Malfoy."

For a moment it seemed as though the man was simply going to ignore me, he certainly had a blistering retort on his lips which was probably something about the dead rising if a Potter were ever sorted into Slytherin. But something, possibly the urgency of my tone made him reconsider. And I could see by his change of expression that he had suddenly seen what I'd seen.

"If the boy were a Slytherin," he began, tone measured and precise, "I would be seriously considering questioning his guardians right now." His gaze didn't leave Potter as he spoke and the boy seemed to flinch when he noticed the hooded gaze staring at him. "But first," and he looked back to me carefully, "I would be looking for Poppy Pomfrey."

With that he swept off like…well, like the giant bat many of the students compare him too. Yet another thing I blame the Weasley twins for, although possibly one of their lesser crimes. Severus does bring it on himself half the time and the Weasley twins are in detention more than any of their peers combined. If it wasn't quite so irritating it would be rather impressive.

I underestimated the man though, as even though my gaze had moved back to Potter, Severus was already acting. Within minutes our medi-witch was at my shoulder.

"Severus mentioned you had concerns about one of your stu-," she stopped suddenly before dropping to her knees and quickly taking my own wrist in her hand. "Minerva, how are you feeling? I can take you down to the Hospital Wing now, there is no point suffering in silence here," the concern in her tone was evident. Severus was right then, I must be rivalling Cuthbert Binns to have caused Poppy to react in this way. Even Albus was starting to stare at me.

"There's nothing wrong with me, Poppy, " I murmured quietly enough for the other faculty not to hear. Ignoring the woman's protests, I continued. "Did you see Potter when he came in?"

Poppy looked at me blankly. She must have thought I'd lost my mind. Of course she'd seen him, nobody would have missed the entrance of the Boy Who Lived. I looked back at the boy, he was faintly swaying in his seat and pale as death itself. I couldn't do nothing.

"Minerva?" Poppy's voice was one of real concern, but for the moment I couldn't focus on that.

I was already standing and, ignoring the gasps from faculty and student alike, I started to stride across the Great Hall. I even ignored the urgent looks Albus was suddenly sending my way. Poppy instinctively followed me as I walked towards the Gryffindor table, more concerned about me than anything else I would guess but it didn't matter. She was following and that was what I needed.

"Potter, I need you to come with me." I'd reached my destination and my voice clearly carried through the newly silent Great Hall. Potter's frightened eyes shot up to mine and I almost couldn't bear how much of Lily I could see in them. I nearly wept when he flinched as I put my hand on his shoulder.

"No way!" That was Fred. "Professor, he didn't do anything!" And George. "We swear!" Together.

Ronald was looking on in confusion but Percy began to berate the twins.

"Misters Weasley," I announced, addressing them all in the same breath, "Mister Potter has done nothing wrong and is not being punished in any way. The young Mister Weasley here can accompany us if he wishes but..." here I cut across the vocal protests of the twins, "...I do not believe anyone who regards a Hogwarts toilet seat to be an appropriate gift as an appropriate companion." The looks of shock on our two troublemakers faces was actually amusing. "Yes, I have already received an owl from your mother."

With that they were dismissed and I started to walk out the Great Hall more than aware that every eye in the room was on me, staff and student alike. The only sound was the mutinous muttering of the twins, who no doubt were already starting to plan some form of revenge. I wasn't concerned. Inventive they might be but the threat of their mothers' wrath kept them from going too far. Even Albus would think twice before crossing Molly Weasley without reason. They also know from experience that my punishments can be just as innovative as their 'pranks'.

I've done nothing once. I am not going to repeat my mistake. That boy is in my care now and damn Albus to hell if he believes I'll renounce my duties.

Even so, walking out the Hall I could feel those blue eyes drilling into my back. Those eyes, eyes that I usually take so much comfort in, that I have always trusted. But if there is one thing I'm certain about, it's that there'll be no twinkle in those blue eyes.

No twinkle at all.


	3. The Hospital Wing

**Chapter 3: The Hospital Wing**

I don't look back until we are out of the Great Hall and the door is firmly closed behind us. Potter is shaking like a leaf, whether from cold or fear I don't know. Without thinking about it I summon a winter cloak from my quarters to wrap around his shoulders. The boy looks up at me in shock with those heart-breaking emerald eyes. Clearly having someone make even a minimal effort to ensure he is comfortable is something he does not have much experience with. Once again that fury that I felt before fills me. I don't know what Albus thought he was playing at but as far as I am concerned, the games stop now.

Poppy kneels down in front of the boy.

"There is nothing to be worried about, Potter. We're just taking a trip down to the Hospital Wing where I can check you over."

"I'm fine, I promise." Potter's voice is as thin and frail as the rest of him. "I'll be right as rain once I've had some rest."

"I'll be the judge of that, Potter, not you." Poppy's mind is made up. Nothing Potter could possibly say will change her mind now, not now she's got a good look at him.

The trip to the Hospital Wing goes quickly, but I am becoming even more concerned for the welfare of my student. Even the young Weasley has noted how grey Potter has become, and his limp is far more pronounced the further he walks. Just as I was about to nudge Poppy to offer some help to the boy, Weasley surprises me. The red-headed youngster recognises at the same moment as I did that Potter is struggling, and offers his arm without a second of hesitation. Potter looks at him warily, as if unsure what to do with the proffered arm.

"Take it for pity's sake, Harry. It's not going to bite you or anything," I had to smile at how much of Molly I could hear in that exasperated statement but Potter did tentatively reach out to take the support Weasley was offering. Whether they turned out to be trouble makers or not it looked like Potter had found himself at least one true friend here who wasn't just interested in his scar. A friend with a huge family and a mother with an instinct to 'adopt' and 'rescue' the lost and helpless. This could be a useful friendship indeed for the Boy Who Lived.

My thoughts stopped as we reached the Hospital Wing and Poppy unceremoniously put Potter on one of the beds and started running her diagnostic spells. I could tell by the way her eyebrows started to knot and lips purse that she was not in any way impressed by what she was finding out. Potter was still shivering slightly under the cloak which he'd wrapped around him like a blanket and leaned heavily against the back of the bed without looking at any of us.

"Professor, a word please?" I had no doubt that Poppy was not actually asking me anything; that was an iron-clad order expressed in a moderately deferential manner. I followed her to the office without hesitation and the door was barely closed when she spoke, the anger in her voice mirroring my own.

"Where has that boy been staying for the past ten years, Minerva?" I had rarely heard Poppy angry. She always accepts that children are children and fixes the results rather than trying to analyse or discipline, she said to me once that she saw no reason for her to get involved in that side of managing the students. There were Heads of Houses for that; she was there to get them back to a state of health whatever they'd managed to do unless she truly believed there was a significant threat to them or to anyone else. Judging by the look in the other woman's eyes now though, there was a fair chance that Poppy herself might be a threat to the muggles if she could get her hands on them.

"Was I right to be concerned then?" I side-step the question neatly. I've been friends with Poppy for many years now, I have no wish to see her in trouble with the Ministry for doing something she might later regret.

"Concerned!? Concerned, Minerva?" our medi-witch was almost growling. "I am frankly astonished that the boy made it through the feast as far as he did without collapsing. He should have been brought to me as soon as he walked through those doors, not when Severus of all people came to collect me. How I didn't see it immediately I don't know. You should have been more than just 'concerned'!"

I close my eyes, suddenly more tired than I've felt in years. Once again, things I should have done.

"I didn't know Poppy. I thought I must be mistaken. It was only when Severus…" I break off with a sigh. "What's the report then?"

"I haven't seen a child this bad in years, Minerva." Poppy spoke clearly and concisely. "That includes the years where we had students coming in from families who simply couldn't afford to feed them. The boy is severely malnourished, anaemic, shows signs of scurvy which we haven't had in decades and is so underweight he barely reads on the charts. If we're lucky we may be able to combat some of the height issues, but he is always going to be small for his age."

I was leaning heavily against the door of Poppy's office, I'm not sure I'd be able to support myself any other way. Poppy is right, this is worse than even I thought.

"There's more," the medi-witch continues mercilessly. "There are multiple old breaks and fractures, most of which have healed fine and none of which should cause any huge amount of concern in the future if I leave them as they currently stand. The majority of the breaks are in the ribcage area and there are a couple of more recent ones which will be causing substantial discomfort at the moment." She looks at me for a long, long moment. "Minerva, you know as well as I do that no child regularly breaks ribs on their own. A boisterous child might break a couple of limbs or fingers as they go about, but not ribs. Someone did this too him."

"And his leg?"

"The least of our worries. A turned ankle. I can have that at least sorted in seconds. The rest will take substantially more time. And that doesn't take into account any psychological damage or issues that he may have. And if this has been going on for anywhere near as long as I fear it might have, it will have had a serious effect on him. You are going to have to treat the boy very carefully, Minerva. If you don't you could break him."

"I am going to kill that man," I growl with almost as much venom as Severus can include.

"Who?" Poppy's eyes glinted dangerously. She clearly thought I was referring to Potter's relatives.

"Albus bloody Dumbledore!" I snap out regardless of the shock on Poppy's face. "I am going to kill the damnable man."

"Minerva…" Poppy was clearly unsure as to what was going on. Nobody spoke that way about Albus, particularly not the deputy head mistress.

"I trusted him! I trusted him to know what he was doing. I let him leave the boy with those muggles and I did absolutely nothing! How could he have let this happen!?" I force myself to calm down. "How long before the boy can have a normal schedule?"

Poppy looks relieved at my return to a world where she has answers. "I'll probably have to keep him in for at least a week before he can start doing classes with the other students, but even then he is likely to get very tired and disorientated much more quickly than the others. If he's pushed too much early on, the result will simply be him collapsing and ending up back with me. It's going to have to be a gentle process of building his strength up. Once that's been done I can look at re-fixing the breaks that could do with it, but that isn't urgent. And if I find out he's been on a broom without my say so, I will have Madam Hooch's head on a pole."

A brief further discussion gave me an idea of what Poppy was going to do next and we went to deal with the concerned Weasley and Potter. It was clear Potter had fallen asleep whilst we had been discussing him, but Weasley was still there. Poppy told him the feast ought to have finished and he would be expected in his dormitory by now and the boy started to leave. Part way to the door he turned back nervously.

"Madam Pomfrey? Will Harry be ok?"

"Nothing here that I can't fix." Our medi-witch smiled at the anxious first-year. "Off with you now, Potter needs to rest. You can visit him tomorrow."

The dismissal could count for me as well. Now that the feast had finished I had somewhere I had to be. Namely Albus Dumbledore's office. Possibly a trip to see Severus first. And if Albus doesn't have a remarkably good explanation for this there will be hell to pay.

There might well be hell to pay regardless with the mood that I'm in.


	4. The Lion and the Snake

**Chapter 4: The Lion and the Snake**

It didn't take long for me to make my way down to the dungeons, and with the mood I was in students practically fell over themselves in order to get out of my way. The dungeons are not a place I would usually frequent no matter what the occasion, let alone on the first day of term, but needs must. If I could get Severus on side then I would have a valuable and powerful ally, particularly considering his well noted hatred for all things Potter or Black. Unfortunately that very same hatred is what will make this task so much harder. But at the very least Poppy has insisted that Potter is treated carefully and gently and if Severus isn't dealt with that will never happen. Even if I have no luck gaining him as an ally, that particular snake still needs to be de-fanged.

"Minerva," Severus greeted me with his customary grimace. "It has been a significant period of time since you last deigned to grace my stone floors. I do hope this has nothing to do with our latest Potter incarnation or the scene you caused in the Great Hall this evening. I would so hate to spoil what has been an enjoyable evening."

"Unfortunately Severus, you have deduced correctly on both counts." I look my younger colleague straight in the eye, refusing to flinch at his clear displeasure. I have seen worse. "Could we step inside please? This is a conversation I would prefer to prevent from reaching the wrong ears."

He raised an eyebrow but stepped backwards with a sweep of his arm causing his robes to billow as he did so. If there is one thing I can say about Severus, it's that he certainly has a flair for the dramatic.

"I have a set of exceptionally complex and time limited potions to brew for Poppy before the week is out, Minerva, so I would much obliged if we could get this unpleasantness out of the way as quickly as possible. Even if I did not have work to be getting on with, I would still have many better things to do with my time than discuss Potter's spawn. Frankly, there are few things lower on my list of priorities."

That was about the response I had expected so I refrained from rolling my eyes at how predictable the man is. Instead I fixed him with the glare I have patented over the decades of teaching hormonal and reckless teenagers. The glare that even stops the Weasley twins in their tracks.

"Severus, they have beaten him hard enough to break bones," I state bluntly. Now is not the time for tact and subtlety. If I am to have Severus on side he first has to understand exactly what the problem is. Unfortunately to understand he has to hear, so I have to be brutal enough to make him listen and force him to take notice. "He is stunted and so malnourished it is going to take Poppy weeks to get him anywhere near approaching what would be considered safe and healthy. His weight is so low it's almost off the scales. In short, if he were not magical he would probably not be alive."

Severus is listening to me, there's that look in his eyes that means he doesn't want to hear what you're saying, but he can't help himself. He hates Potter with a loathing that the rest of us have no hope of ever comprehending, but if there is one thing he hates more it's a broken child. Over the years I've watched him deal with some of the more vicious pureblood families of his Slytherin's and it is not a pretty sight. But he gets results. Not one of his young charges is hurt more than once whilst under his not-so tender care. He protects them; they repay him by trusting him to the end of the world. I have often wondered where this sympathy for the wounded child comes from, such an unusual sympathy in such a cold and distant man, but I have never asked. It has never been my place to ask.

"How long for?" The sneer is still firmly fixed on his face, but the simple fact that he has asked the question means that I have him. I actually have a chance.

"I don't know," I answer honestly. The other thing Severus hates are those who try to dissemble, luckily I have the same hatred for that. "But the boy walked into the Great Hall with three broken ribs, a badly turned ankle and so weak he shouldn't have been able to stand. He didn't make a sound of protest or think to ask for help. What does that say to you, Severus?"

Severus looks at me and there's a definite spark of anger in those penetrating dark eyes of his.

"This is normal for him…" He answers softly.

He gets it. Now for the real test.

"Severus, I left Lily's son on her sister's doorstep that night. I trusted Alb…"

"Her sister?" There is suddenly a slightly dangerous edge to the younger man's voice despite him not having raised it and I have to persuade myself not to step backwards. "Petunia Evans? You left Lily's child on that woman's doorstep?"

"Petunia Dursley by then, but yes…"

"You left a child on the doorstep of a woman who hated Lily, hated magic, hated anything 'abnormal' that she couldn't fit into her neat and ordered world view?" Did I say 'slightly dangerous' edge to his voice? That might have been an understatement in retrospect. "On the night Lily died, you left her only child on that doorstep and you didn't even think to ring the doorbell? It didn't occur to either of you to check whether they were willing to raise another child!?"

The sneer that I am so used to has vanished, replaced by an almost feral snarl. I fear he is scarcely one breath of control away from pulling his wand on me. I'd intended to get his attention and have certainly succeeded. Whether I leave this room in one piece is another issue entirely. That would fuel the student gossip mill further; not only does the Head of Gryffindor pull the Boy Who Lived out of the welcoming feast but on the same evening is seen being hexed backwards out of the Head of Slytherin's chambers.

"I trusted Albus. He left a letter to…"

"Then Albus is a god damn fool!" I've heard Severus shout many a time, usually at my Gryffindor's whether or not they've melted a cauldron, but I don't believe I have ever heard such intensity from him. He is a master of many things, one of them occlumency so keeps his emotions tightly under check, but the rage that is breaking off him in waves now is terrifying in its intensity. "Two of the greatest minds in wizarding history and neither of you thought to use the doorbell!?"

The conversation was quickly spiralling out of control. I had to contain it somehow.

"Severus, I need your help." That quiet pronouncement lingers between us for a long moment as he glares at me. "I fear I have made a grave mistake and I don't know what to do now. Please, I need your help." Minerva McGonagall begging for help. Wonders will never cease. "I trust Albus with my life. I always have. But now, I don't know whether he didn't know or…"

"If he didn't care." Severus finishes for bluntly me when I falter.

"No… more than that Severus. If this is actually somehow what he … intended." I stumble to a halt, feeling deeply unsettled in a way that I haven't been since that night ten years ago. This is Albus I am speaking about. Albus, the leader we have all followed, the mastermind behind the fight against You-Know-Who, the leader of what is good and righteous.

But Severus seems to have read more into my words than I had intended as he has started pacing the floor muttering to himself. I make out the words 'he wouldn't dare' and a series of curses before interrupting.

"Severus, what is going on?"

The man that looks back at me now is different again. No longer the snide Potions Master or the volcano of anger from a couple of minutes ago. In front of me now is the wounded and weary spy from all those years ago.

"The prophecy," he mutters. "Did Albus ever mention the prophecy to you?"

Now I'm really confused. "What prophecy?"

"The Potter prophecy." It says how disturbed the man is that he doesn't spit the name Potter like he usually would. He looks up at me sharply. "He's never mentioned it to you?"

I shake my head.

"I don't know the entirety of it, but what I know is as follows: _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies._ There is more, but I don't have that knowledge."

"Severus, what are you going on about? I'm talking about Potter now, not ten years ago." It's unlike him to go off on tangents. "You-Know-Who is gone. The prophecy would have been fulfilled." But the amount of pain in Severus' eyes stops me short.

"No, he's not. He's a shadow of himself but he is not gone." I look at the man in absolute disbelief. "Trust me Minerva, sources say he is currently hiding in Albania but how long he'll stay there is another matter entirely. He is going to come back and when he does…that is when the prophecy will be fulfilled. That is when the Potter boy will be of most use."

"What are you saying?" I whisper. I think I know exactly what he's saying, but I cannot believe Albus would sink that low. I cannot.

"Potter is a pawn in the great Albus Dumbledore's tapestry of the future unfolding. He's a pawn now and he was a pawn ten years ago when he was left on the doorstep of a woman known to hate everything about the magical world." Once again he looks straight at me before speaking again. "Albus is grooming him. Potter is to be his own superstar weapon but for that to happen he has to be broken first. Albus knew. He more than knew. He orchestrated it."

There is a long silence after Severus' last words. Then finally.

"I'll help you, Minerva. Not for you or for Potter though. For the memory of Lily that was defiled the moment her son was left with those monsters."

I barely recognise my voice when I can speak. It's harsh and guttural.

"I'm going there now. Will you join me?"

"It will be my pleasure. I assume this is not going to be a pleasant evening get together?"

I glare at him.

"You would assume correctly. I am going to wring the manipulative buffoon's neck and smile whilst I do so."


	5. A Tactical Ambush

**Chapter 5: A Tactical Ambush**

To say I am furious is potentially the understatement of the century. The sheer minded manipulations and schemes of that man are beyond belief. You don't treat a one year old child as a pawn in a game they have no hope of comprehending, regardless of your intentions or reasoning. Potter was a child, still is a child, and he has been completely defenceless against the machinations of a manipulative old fool. A fool I have trusted my entire life. But if there is one thing I am certain of it's that Potter is not defenceless anymore. There is no way I will let one of own be broken and played as if he is a sacrificial lamb. He is not a chess piece to be used at someone else's whim, I will not allow him to be held at anyone else's mercy. Even if that means going against Albus. Whilst Potter is in my care the game stops. I cannot believe that Albus not only let this happen, but actually orchestrated the entire thing. Albus, the solid rock of my existence.

"Minerva, stop," Severus' voice resounds clearly through the stone corridor as I stride furiously on. "What exactly are you planning on doing?"

As if he even needs to ask.

"I am planning on getting some answers," I respond in a tone which could freeze the Weasley twins in place, let alone mere ice. "If at the same time I manage to shake some sense into the old fool's empty skull then all the better. If I succeed in throttling the meddling coot then this will be considered a highly successful venture."

"I will rephrase my question, Minerva," there is a definite sense of exasperation in the younger man's tone. "Shake off the damned Gryffindor pride for one second and think." He's moved in front of me, effectively stopping my progress forwards unless I wish to knock the man over. Considering I have only just gained him as an unlikely ally, that probably wouldn't be a wise move. "What exactly are you hoping to gain?"

Despite my glare, I can see where he is coming from but he continues before I can respond.

"It is all well and good barging in there like a lioness protecting your cubs Minerva, but do you not think Albus might expect that after your stunt in the Great Hall?" His usual drawl is almost amused. "You are well within your rights to protect the Potter boy and well within your rights to be furious, but do you not think you are being a tad predictable? We all know that Lily was one of your favourites when they were in school and that the pair of them became almost like surrogate children to you before they died. I know you will protect any of your House as surely as I protect mine, but is there anything to be gained in doing what Albus expects? What do you hope to achieve?"

The amusement has vanished, replaced by a tone I have never heard before. It is the tone of the man who stands in front of the Dark Lord and reports without fear or hesitation. It is the tone of a man who has nothing left to fear even death itself, and will do anything to achieve his aims. His eyes fasten onto mine as he continues.

"If we barge into Albus' office now there is every chance we will leave with empty words and hollow promises at best. If I am right in my deductions then Albus will be planning for this confrontation. He knows you will charge up to his office full of righteous anger and he will play you like a kitten with a piece of string. You will be left batting baubles around your office." I'm paying too much attention to him to be offended by his frank analysis. "Do you want words or action Minerva? How far are you willing to go to protect Harry Potter?"

As he spoke, my brain had caught up with my anger and I was starting to grasp the reality of the situation we found ourselves in. Severus is right. We are so used to being chess pieces for Albus on a gigantic board only he can see; we have given him decades of practice in manipulating the emotions and actions of others. We've allowed him to dictate our actions since before even Grindelwald. The great Albus points in a direction and we willingly move to our next square regardless of what sacrifice that involves. We are his pawns, his knights and his bishops. I have a nasty suspicion that I am his Queen, or at least one of them; powerful enough to send throughout the board but valuable enough to keep close and protected. I am clearly one of the lucky ones.

And despite his relative youth, Severus is right. It really shouldn't surprise me so much. I reacted with the blind fury of the lioness who will do anything to protect her cubs; I did not consult my inner raven. He is thinking as the snake and the spy he was all those years ago whilst preserving his ferocity and protectiveness. He has kept a level head. I realise I have been silent for too long and our Potions Masters eyes are still on me, carefully analysing my reactions. When I speak again my voice is softer and I can actually see some of the tension leave the other man's shoulders.

"You more than anyone know how far I will go to protect any of my students, Severus. Lily's son is no exception to that rule." Now I look at him penetratively. "So, you clearly have a plan. What would you suggest?"

I thought I had seen everything, it appears I was wrong. The sight of Severus Snape smiling is an image that may haunt my nightmares for many years to come. It was not a pleasant smile. It was the smile of a careful and wary predator who has discovered a way to get to its prey. It sent shivers down my spine.

"I would suggest a three pronged approach, Minerva." With the exception of the use of my given name he almost sounded like a student offering a solution to a particularly tricky concept in class. That's the problem with having taught your colleagues; I found myself nodding permission at him to continue as a more natural smirk quirks the corners of his mouth. "The primary aim is to remove the boy from the muggles, the secondary aim is to prove to Albus that he is not infallible and can be challenged…" he stopped for a second with that strange smile again "…our third objective is to 'wring the manipulative buffoon's neck and smile whilst we do so'."

I had to smile at his rather apt and almost perfect mimicry of my previous outburst.

"You have correctly assessed and isolated the objectives of this exercise," for a moment we had stepped back in time, effortlessly taking the role of Professor and student albeit with the roles somewhat reversed. "Now, how would you suggest we achieve these objectives?"

That smile again.

"I would firstly suggest that we do not attempt to approach our esteemed Headmaster until we have set in motion some basic precautionary measures." I raised my eyebrows at him, almost enjoying this game. "The first precaution I would suggest is that you approach Poppy, gain a full written assessment of the boy's state of health then write a formal request to Amelia Bones regarding the immediate removal of guardianship from the relatives. In light of the evidence at hand I have no doubt she will act quickly and forcibly." He's right about that as well; Amelia was a force to be reckoned with as a student, let alone as Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

"The second precaution I would suggest is that both of us write down the events of the last twenty four hours, independent of each other and then entrust a copy to someone we trust. They can then be opened if we become inconveniently indisposed or have an odd lapse of memory regarding our dealings with Potter."

His last word was spat with the usual amount of venom Severus reserved for his childhood vendetta but that isn't why I am staring at him in complete disbelief and horror. Surely Albus wouldn't…he couldn't…

Severus read my face perfectly.

"I am not by any means suggesting that Albus will resort to such measures," he continued smoothly. "I am merely remarking on the precautions I would put in place considering the power of the wizard we are proposing to confront." I forgot he has spent years dealing with powerful wizards much more nefarious than Albus could ever hope to be. "For you I would suggest Augusta Longbottom or Remus Lupin; actually – both." Again he catches my clear confusion and expands.

"Think Minerva," now I am the berated student, "Augusta is a high standing member of the wizarding community who is strong and neutral. Remus, whatever my personal feelings towards the furball, he has a long standing connection with Potter and will care for the child as his own cub. Those two together would be a formidable foe. For myself…" and here Severus hesitates for the first time, "I would suggest Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley.

"What!?" I'm not sure which I'm more shocked by. The fact that he even thought of Arthur or that he would trust Lucius with such information. For the first time he seems uncertain and again he hesitates before continuing.

"Malfoy is one of my closest…'friends' and allies." The stress he placed on the word friends was impossible to miss. "To not approach him would be suspicious at the very least, at worst potentially more dangerous in the future. Everyone saw us speaking together in the Great Hall and if I am not mistaken this confrontation will soon be one of Hogwarts famous 'secrets'…"

"…so complete a secret that naturally the whole school will know…" I finish with one of Albus' favourite sayings.

"Exactly," the patented Severus smirk is firmly back in place. "I have to approach Lucius, to not do so would have unforeseeable consequences. Weasley, I … I trust that he will do what is best for the child and if he doesn't his wife certainly will." I have to smile at Severus' obvious consternation with what he is admitting. "I am not liked by either and for good reason, but they grudgingly trust me. And they will care. I cannot think of anyone more suitable."

Severus now strongly resembles a stuffed turkey so I rescue him by pushing the conversation forwards. 

"And your third approach to the issue?" I ask pointedly.

Here Severus really does smile and I actually feel my blood run cold. This smile actively radiates malice.

"The third precaution I would suggest will require a culminative effort," he seemed to bite back the word 'Professor' as we fell back into our roles. Again I nod. "I would suggest we affix our House Seals to a confidential document sent to Filius and Pomona. Within this document I would include that it all Heads of Houses are required to attend the Staff Room at noon tomorrow. I would also write that it is of paramount importance that this is not mentioned aloud, even to one of the other Heads." I am now watching Severus with open appreciation. "It should also be noted that formal robes are required and House Seals are to be worn. From there we will approach Albus."

With that Severus seems to have finished. I watched him for a second as his dark eyes actually sparkled and I realised how rare it is that we give him the chance to actually scheme. And what a waste that is. The man is a master mind.

"Severus, that is absolutely brilliant," I breathe.

He bows to me. He actually bows. Sardonically I will admit, but still.

"Thank you, Minerva," he responds in a snide fashion. "I have occasionally been accused of genius in my time. I would suggest we start to get organised as this will take some preparation."

Of that he is right. But it will be more than worth it. We're about to ambush the greatest wizard of all time with a plan not even the Mauraders could have rivalled in their day.

Albus will rue the day he was ever born. 


	6. The Lion's Den

**Chapter 6: The Lion's Den**

I am pacing my personal quarters impatiently. All of the preparation is complete and now I must wait. Something I am not very good at as Severus is more than aware. But at least my waiting has not been entirely unprofitable, even if it has been frustrating. Augusta replied to my owl almost immediately, her missive was careful and controlled as she accepted the responsibility I had asked of her. There were slight signs of concern but they were well masked behind her usual stern demeanour.

Amelia took slightly longer to respond but that was to be expected considering the nature of my request. I deliberately sent my personal owl to attract attention, and Pantherus certainly knew how to attract attention, but even then the formal measures had to be dealt with. The eventual response was favourable and requested further information, which I provided. The resultant fireplace head of our Head of Magical Law Enforcement was an interesting experience to say the least. I have had dealings with Amelia on several previous occasions, but I have never seen the woman spitting pure flames of fury. Having made it very clear that Albus is the only reason Potter has been staying with his relatives, and that we would be confronting him shortly, Amelia left. It would however be no great surprise if the great and infallible wizard received a few howlers come tomorrow morning. Unfortunately I fear, even as angry as she currently is, Amelia probably has more common sense than sending a howler to coincide with breakfast in the Great Hall. One can hope though.

Remus' response had to be the best out of the lot though; barely restrained hysteria is probably the most efficient description. I was rather grateful for Hogwarts anti-apparition wards as otherwise there was every chance the man would have been in my office having an apoplexy. But finally, after hours of watching the clock it's time. It's half past eleven and I can finally move. The corridors are more or less deserted as I stride through them, with the exception of a couple of upper years with free periods. I find myself at the Staff Room well before noon and I'm not surprised to see Filius is already waiting there, reading a book that is almost as large as he is. His eyes flick up to mine as I walk through the door and he carefully book-marks the tome that he's reading before standing to greet me.

"Ah, I was hoping you would arrive early, Minerva," his eyes are drilling into mine and there is no humour in his tone.

Once again I am reminded how often people underestimate Hogwarts smallest professor; you see his smile and size and forget that behind the cheerful face is one of the best wizards to have come out of Ravenclaw. A Ravenclaw to the bone but with distinctive snakelike qualities when pushed; a Slythenclaw on occasions if you wish. His size alone means that he has had to be to survive – he is a duelling champion for a reason but can fence words with an equal amount of skill.

"Filius," I acknowledge him gravely, waiting for what comes next.

He looks at me sternly over his glasses before responding.

"What's wrong with Potter?"

"No beating around the bush then Filius?" I comment mildly. "I should have known you out of everyone would pick up the signs."

"It wasn't overly difficult, Minerva," he reproaches me. "I receive a formal summons from the two Heads of Houses who are at each others throats twenty four hours a day on the first day of term? You drag the boy out of the Great Hall after previously speaking to Severus? Potter doesn't arrive in morning lessons and the youngest Weasley is acting like a human shield when anyone even mentions his name? It's a good job they can't do offensive magic yet otherwise we might have had a first year Slytherin in the Hospital Wing as well."

Filius waves the official summons that Severus and I had drawn up last night at me.

"I believe I will keep this as a permanent reminder that the Snake and the Lion can indeed work together in harmony, rather than simply swiping at each other. But the fact that you and Severus are working together and have summoned all the Heads of Houses using your official House Seals?" He looks at me for a long second. "If this is not related to why the Boy Who Lived is currently in Poppy's care rather than the Gryffindor common-room, I am Rowena Ravenclaw herself!"

I hesitate before responding, unsure of how much to say at this point.

"You are, of course, completely correct Filius," I say carefully. "This does indeed revolve around Potter, but I would prefer to wait for Severus to be present before speaking any further. This is a rather sensitive matter."

"We're going to speak to Albus, aren't we?" He ignores my request, and the grave tone in his voice is a clear indication that he knows more than I had given credit for. "For you to require all four House Seals present then we must be going to Albus. For you to require absolute secrecy..." there's a hesitation and I am certain that he changes what he was about to say, "...Albus doesn't know."

"Congratulations Filius," the snide drawl from a corner of the room takes us both by surprise. "You have correctly put together the facts and somehow that Ravenclaw brain of yours has even managed to put them in more or less the correct order."

"Severus," I exclaim as Filius looks daggers at our resident bat of the dungeons, "I didn't hear you come in."

"That was the intention." How the man manages to make such a simple sentence sound quite so patronising is beyond me. But he looks again at Filius. "You are correct in all but one crucial matter. We are not just going to Albus, we are confronting Albus." The lack of surprise in the Ravenclaw's face doesn't shock me too much. Severus continues. "You wish to know why you have been summoned?" Filius nods sharply. "And you realise that if we furnish your need for knowledge then you will be expected to contribute to this confrontation rather than being a simple witness?"

Filius once again shows how unwise it is to underestimate him as his eyes turn cold and Severus' robes billow forcibly backwards despite the fact that he holds no wand nor uttered an incantation.

"If something has happened to young Mister Potter, I consider it both my honour and my duty," he remarked smoothly as Severus regained his balance.

"I would agree," the bulky figure of Pomona bustled into the room. "You have called us all together. I would appreciate knowing why."

Severus nodded silently before handing each of us a piece of parchment which I immediately recognised as the medical assessment Poppy had compiled. Both of us watch in silence as Filius and Pomona read and digest what is on that sheet; their expressions saying more than words could ever hope to.

"Who?" Filius is the first to speak and there is a cold fury to his voice that I did not believe him capable of. His usual high pitched tenor has dropped to a pitch that Severus' would be proud of.

"The boys legal guardians," Severus' snarl cuts straight across the sudden atmosphere of the room with clear displeasure. "The guardians Albus left him with..."

"...the guardians Albus has every intention of continuing to leave the boy with," I interrupt in what would be best described as a hiss. My talk with Amelia had been most enlightening.

"But...how could this happen!?" Pomona's distress is clear.

"Perhaps 'how' is not the question we should be asking," Filius gives me a sharp glance. "Nothing Albus does is without reason. Perhaps the question ought to be 'why''"?

"You can't be suggesting that Albus..." The desperate hope in Pomona's voice is heartbreaking. "He wouldn't..."

Severus' response was brutal.

"You may be a Hufflepuff but that does not stop you from using the brain you were given. Albus knew before he left that child on a muggle doorstep on a freezing November night..."

"He did what!?" Both Heads of House look like they could choke.

"Albus knew when we left a one year old child that his guardians were not suitable," ignoring Pomona's spluttered exclamations I continue the tale. "We left Potter there, we knew that Petunia hates magic. I assumed that due to the high rates of accidental magic that they'd have been checks made. I was wrong."

There's a long silence before Pomona speaks.

"He cannot go back to that house."

There is unanimous agreement to that statement.

"I believe the password is currently 'Cockroach clusters," Filius commented grimly.

* * *

And so we found ourselves trudging up the stairs to Albus' office. Once again I curse the design of this castle and whoever decided we required so many steps. Clearly they weren't banking on old bones having to struggle up them. Reaching the top I don't bother rapping on the door, instead simply walk right through.

"Good afternoon, Minerva," Albus smiles at me benignly with that twinkle as I enter, clearly Severus was right. Coming alone would have been foolish. "I was expecting you ye-"

"Afternoon, Albus."

The man's smile has disappeared as the other three Heads of House stride purposefully into the room.

"Severus, Filius, Pomona," he nods to each one in turn. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"You know exactly why we are here," I snap. "The current guardianship of one young Mister Potter."

Albus smiles at me. He actually has the gall to smile at me.

"The guardianship of Mister Potter is strongly reinforced by the highly advanced magical wards I placed on the Dursley home..."

Filius interrupts which clearly takes Albus by surprise. He'd expected arguments to come from me, not to be facing a united front of irate Heads.

"As a master of charms and other protective measures, it would be fitting if you could explain to me exactly what wards you have used," his tone could freeze hell over. "There are many measures that could be used at any property in Britain, so what wards are so important that you are willing to employ them at the cost of a child's well-being?"

The rage in our Charms masters' voice is unmistakable and from the way Albus looks between us it is clear he has noticed it as well. Before he can respond however, Severus steps forwards with the medical report.

"A child so malnourished as to be off the charts?" He slaps the report into Albus' hands. "A child presenting with severe anaemia and signs of scurvy? A child with broken bones? A child who is stunted and would not be alive were it not for his magic?" The last section is spat out venomously, and he looks to Filius and Pomona for a second.

"Filius," he calls sharply and the Head of Ravenclaw looks to him. "Would you allow guardianship to continue when there are clear signs of abuse as shown in the medical record you hold?"

I'm looking at Albus who is starting to look distinctly ambushed. This is clearly not going as he had anticipated.

"No. I would not," Filius responded bluntly. "And with the evidence in hand, I would be informing the Head of Magical Law Enforcement to determine whether official measures can be implemented or whether it needs to go to the non-magical authorities."

"Pomona?" The lazy gesture he makes shows clearly how little resistance Severus expects.

"That child has been beaten repeatedly." There's a hard glaze to her eyes that even Albus flinches away from. "I will not have it. He will not be returning to that...place."

There is no doubt about it now; Albus is starting to look like a cornered animal. I probably shouldn't take such glee from that, but I can't bring myself to care.

"Let's slow down and discuss this, shall we?" The twinkle is nowhere to be seen. "I left Mister Potter with Petunia and her husband because she willingly sealed the charms that I placed upon the house. For full protection, the boy needed to be with blood relatives. Whilst he is there he cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort or his followers. They cannot find him or hurt him. I kept the boy alive!"

"At what cost!?" surprisingly the outburst has come from Pomona and all heads jerk to her for a second before Severus speaks out. He is calmer than Pomona, but so much more dangerous.

"Pomona is right. What good is it to protect the boy from the Dark Lord when you neglect to protect him from the very people who are supposed to love him?"

"Severus, I thought you of everyone would understand why it was nec-" the sorrow in Albus' tone sounds genuine, but I don't know what to believe anymore. Clearly Severus is of the same mindset.

"Save it!" The snarl that erupts from our Potions Masters lips is savage. "You left one child alone in the hands of his father to be beaten and humiliated. You didn't care how many beatings he got or how often he cried. The result was a Death Eater come spy."

I can't restrain my gasp, Severus never speaks of his past, even in passing. Now perhaps I know why. Glancing at our other two Heads, I find identical expressions of shock on both their faces. Albus doesn't look much better, he's faintly ashen and leaning on his desk. Unfortunately, Severus isn't finished.

"You left another child alone in a muggle orphanage with no friends or support when you knew he hated the place with a passion." Now I'm confused. "He became a bully to survive and you could have saved him from himself, but once more chose to ignore the cries of a hurting child. The result was one Tom Riddle, a Dark Lord with an abiding hatred of Albus Dumbledore; the great and mighty leader of light who could have helped him but chose not to."

There is utter silence in the room now, I barely dare breathe. The look in Albus' eyes is beyond what I have ever seen before as Severus whirls on us. I have respected and looked up to Albus for a long time, but I have never been given cause to fear him. Until now.

"Have you never wondered at the name?" There is almost a look of disappointment on the younger man's face as he stares at us.

With a theatrical twirl of his wand the words 'I am Lord Voldemort' appeared in the air in front of us causing horrified gasps. With a snarl he pulls his left sleeve up exposing the Dark Mark imprinted there before flicking his wand aggressively and the letters rearrange themselves before our eyes; 'Tom Marvelo Riddle'.

"They are the same person!" He turns back to Albus. "You failed the Dark Lord, you failed the Death Eater and now you are about to fail the Boy Who Lived. You will not fail another child, Albus, that I promise you. Whether you want a pawn in your games or a sacrificial lamb, I find myself at the end of my patience. I owe Lily more than that."

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

The shout takes me by surprise, particularly since Severus has not reached for his wand.

"Not so fast, Albus," the snarl comes from an unexpected quarter and I turn to find our dwarf professor holding two wands and in a full duelling stance. Pomona has also drawn her wand but is looking highly unsure and it suddenly hits me that the second wand Filius is holding belongs to Albus. Albus was just disarmed. This takes a second to process. Albus was just disarmed. It takes all my effort to keep my voice steady.

"Would you care to explain why one of your own staff felt the need to disarm you, Albus?" My tone is cold but I can't hide how deeply unsettled I am.

Filius responds before Albus can. He doesn't lower his wand.

"Albus drew first. I cast quicker." It is unusual to get such short answers from the usually jovial man. I send him a questioning glance. "I do not know what he was about to cast, but I believe Severus would have felt the effects. I chose to pre-empt the issue."

"I believe I brought a few truths into the open that Albus would have preferred to keep quiet," the mocking drawl from Severus is merciless. "I stand by what I said. I expected an arrogant copy of James Potter to walk into the Halls yesterday, not a malnourished and abused wreck. He will not go back to the Dursley's."

"I believe this discussion is over," I state coldly. "I will be conversing with Amelia Bones regarding living conditions for Potter, you will not have any further input in the child's care."

Drawing out a document from my robes I put it on the table.

"If all Heads of Houses would please affix their Seals to this document it will be legally binding. Albus, you can choose not to affix the School Seal if you wish. The four House Seals are enough to ensure we have agreed the Dursley's will be dealt with according to what measures Amelia Bones discovers and appropriate accommodation will be found for Potter before the end of the year. Until then he can stay at Hogwarts."

Without saying a word I push my Seal onto the document, closely followed by Filius, Pomona and Severus. I create copies for each party and start to leave the room. Once outside the room I turn to the other Heads of House.

"Well, that went well."


	7. Of Rules and Questions

**Chapter 7: Of Rules and Questions**

To say that the mood at the High Table is tense would be the understatement of the century. Pomona's barely talking, Filius is looking anywhere but at Albus and I have to admit, I'm not much better. The atmosphere has already spread to the rest of the table and the entirety of the staff is on edge. Severus is just glaring at everyone, but there's nothing new about that at least. He has managed to somehow notch it up a fraction and even his Slytherin's are looking at him nervously. I fear Gryffindor may be losing a fair few points today and if he's got Longbottom in his classes at any point in the near future then God help us all. The situation is not helped by the fact that Potter's absence has been noted and remarked on by both staff and student. Weasley appears to be running decent interference with the students, but the staff are becoming bothersome with the constant questions. Hagrid in particular approaches me at least twice a day; I know he cares deeply about the Potter boy, that doesn't stop his constant pestering and requests from fraying on my nerves.

I do have to admit that I have been rather impressed by the actions of the youngest Weasley though. After having spent the last several years teaching the Weasley twins and dealing with what they have pulled in their time here, I was dreading the arrival of the latest member of the clan. He's surprised me though. Numerous teachers have reported to me that the boy has been meticulous in taking notes and assignments for Potter, stating that he was worried on the train that he wouldn't been able to keep up and not being able to attend classes wouldn't help. Pomona isn't the only teacher to have given him points for his dedication and loyalty, even Severus stated that although he is an incompetent dunderhead he appears to have mitigating factors. From Severus about one of my young lions that is high praise indeed. I must ensure his brothers never find out about that, the poor lad would never live it down. On the other hand Longbottom was described as a clumsy fool with less ability than a flobberworm, so I guess it evens out. Although, having set an unprecedented record for melting cauldrons so far, I can't really fault Severus.

I've made a particular point about ensuring that I visit Potter on a daily basis so on leaving the Great Hall that was the first place I went. I was pleasantly surprised by the fact that Potter was awake and had a book in front of him. On previous occasions he's been fast asleep.

"Mister Potter, what are you reading?" I say as I walk up to his bed.

To my shock his eyes fly up to mine and I'm horrified at the terror that has suffused his face. He looks at the book frantically, desperately moving his hands to try and cover it up.

"I'm sorry," he stuttered. "I didn't mean to..."

"Potter, you have nothing to apologise for." Moving slowly towards the boy I gently move his hands away from the book, trying to ignore the flinch that he gives at the contact. It's Arsenius Jigger's Magical Drafts and Potions. "I'm glad to see you awake and using your time so productively. I'm sure Professor Snape would be pleased to see an interest in his class as well."

Again those startlingly green eyes fly back up to meet my own before darting down quickly, but mixed with the fear is a clear sense of confusion.

"But, I'm not allowed..." he stutters. "It's one of the rules... I can't break the rules..."

He's tucked himself against the bedpost as tightly as he can, almost curled double on himself. But I'm confused.

"Rules?" My question seems to increase his terror rather than calming him down. "What rules?"

"I'm not meant to speak about them," he mumbles to the floor, edging further away from me as he speaks. "I'm not allowed. Please don't tell Uncle. Please? I promise I'll be good. I promise."

My usual stern demeanour is crumbling at the sight of the small boy quivering on the bed in front of me. It would be concerning were it any of my students, but this isn't any student. This is Harry Potter, Lily's son and the boy who saved the wizarding world. More importantly, he's the child of one of my favourite students and someone who became almost like a daughter to me. He should have been brought up as a favourite grandchild, not as a punching bag for his relatives' anger. He's a child I left to his fate.

"Potter, I promise you, you are not in trouble and no one will be telling your uncle anything." The desperate hope in his eyes is heart-breaking to witness. "You will not be going back to them, I promise you that they will never hurt you again. You never even have to see them again."

I'd meant the statement to be comforting, but instead my words just seemed to make the boy more terrified and to my dismay I can see the tears glistening in those vibrant green eyes. Of all the times I'd imagined finally meeting Lily's son, it was never like this. I'd hoped he'd have James's confidence and Lily's compassion, I'd imagined him as a potential trouble-maker, a future heart-throb, even occasionally as a bully. I'd never imagined the broken child in front of me, scared and alone, abandoned by his own people and unloved by his family.

"You're sending me to an orphanage." There was no question in the words, it was just a flat statement filled with more despair than a child that age should ever know. "You're giving up on me. You're all giving up on me. I understand."

"No, Mister Potter," I state firmly, appalled by the views he's spouting. Ashamed of how much we let him down. "We will find you somewhere to live with a family that will care for you as if you were their own son. You will not go to an orphanage. I promise you, even if I have to take you in myself, you will not have to go to an orphanage." As I speak the boy is shaking as tears flow silently down his cheeks. His fear of the orphanage is real and true even if I don't understand it. "Potter, I promise you, no one will hurt you again. You are not being abandoned. You have my word."

From the look on his face it's clear that he doesn't believe me. Usually that kind of disbelief from one of my students would irk me beyond belief, but from what I know of Potter's circumstances I doubt he has much experience of trusting adults. In reality, he has little reason for trusting me. On top of everything else, his muggle teachers clearly hadn't helped him much. They'd left him with his relatives, either not noticing or not believing him. Why should I be any different? Was I any different? I'd done the same thing all those years ago.

"Can you tell me more about the rules, Potter?" I try to keep my voice as gentle as possible, but somehow the boy actually seems to manage to shrink even further into himself as I speak. "I promise you, nobody will hurt you for telling me."

"You won't believe me," his voice is so quiet I can barely make out what he's saying. "You'll call me a liar and a freak and you'll call uncle and you'll leave me because nobody ever believes me and you'll hate me." As I watch his breathing has become irregular and he's started to jumble his words together. If I'm not careful Poppy will be forcibly ejecting me soon; Head of House or not, if she believes I'm putting her ward at risk I won't be staying here long.

"I already believe you, Potter." I gently reach out to rest my hand on his shoulder. "And believe me, you are not a freak. I want to help you. But I can't help you if you won't talk to me. Please, give me a chance to help you."

I can see the uncertainty in his face as he considers me and for a second I wish I had Severus here. His ability to read surface thoughts without invading a mind could help me know what could set this child's mind at rest. I don't know how to help him, I don't know how to get him to open up. My usual stern demeanour will just scare him into silence but after decades of teaching, that is how I get answers. I need to understand why he's so terrified of speaking and what will let him trust him. But somehow, without me doing anything other than watching him, he comes to a decision. He's still scared and is curled up in a quivering heap but he starts to speak.

"Rule number one: I am a freak and deserve to be punished."

The fact that his voice is now an emotionless monotone scares me more than the words that are coming out of his mouth.

"Rule number two: It is only because Aunt and Uncle are kind hearted that they took me in. I am a burden and I deserve to be left in an orphanage where they will suck my soul out. If I'm not good they will send me there.

"Rule number three: I will stay in my cupboard unless there are chores to do. Nobody wants to see the freaks face.

"Rule number four: Food is a privilege to be earned. Freaks do not eat with normal people.

"Rule number five: I do not deserve books or toys. If I have a toy I stole it and must be punished. If I have a book I stole it and must be punished."

The child in front of me recites these rules for what seemed like hours, his glassy-eyed stare fixed on a random spot on the wall and his tone never varying from that emotionless monotone. I couldn't do anything but stare at him in horror. We knew he'd been starved, we knew he'd been beaten, but this? This went so much further than we could have ever imagined. He's been trained to believe that he's a freak, a punch-bag and worth absolutely nothing. He's been forced to live in a cupboard under the stairs. He doesn't even believe he was worthy of reading basic school books. And the most heart-breaking thing? He honestly believes it. He doesn't know any better.

"You can send me home now," the small voice interrupted my thought processes and I realised I'd let the silence stretch on too long. He'd recited the final rule a while back; _Rule 25: I am more stupid than Dudley, more useless than Dudley, more freakish than Dudley. If I cheat and seem better than I am I will be punished._ That small voice continued, never looking up from the bed. "I understand. It's ok that you want to get rid of me."

"Potter," I hesitate slightly. I am out of my depth and I know it. "Harry. We will not be getting rid of you. You belong here and from now on those rules do not exist. You eat with your fellow students, you study for your classes and you sleep in a bed. Do you understand me?"

He looks at me with complete confusion, and I can't bear the look in those eyes. I don't want to see that helplessness reflected in Lily's eyes.

"But why would you want to keep me? You know what a freak I am now. You'll want me to leave. It's ok."

Again, he's not asking me a question, and again I feel my heart breaking at the matter of fact way he says it. All of my years teaching couldn't have prepared me for this, and I can't believe that without Severus I probably wouldn't even have known. I probably wouldn't have asked. Because I trusted Albus.

"Harry James Potter," he flinches at the steel in my tone and I hastily soften my voice at his obvious distress. "Harry, you are not going anywhere. Hogwarts is where you belong and Hogwarts is where you will stay, I promise you that. I will also repeat to you, hopefully for the last time, that you are not a freak. Not by any stretch of the imagination. You are a young wizard with huge potential providing you work hard and study. Hogwarts is your home now and will always be your home. Do you understand me?"

He nods slowly, but I suspect that's more out of politeness than actual comprehension of what I am saying. Persuading a child they have been lied to for their entire life probably takes more than one talk.

"I'll leave you to your reading now, Mister Potter. I have class to get to. Madam Pomfrey should have you out in a week."

"Yes, Professor. Thank you, Professor." I turn to leave but the timid voice stops me half way across the room. "Actually Professor? Would it be possible for me to ask you a question if you wouldn't mind, please?"

He flinches as I turn back to him, clearly expecting some kind of discipline. Rule number 9: I will not speak unless spoken to and I will not ask questions. I smile encouragingly at him and nod.

"Where would you find a bezoar, Professor? I've looked everywhere in this book and I can't find it."

"Why would you have any need to know that, Mister Potter?" I'm confused and completely taken aback. First years don't need to know anything about bezoars.

"I'm sorry, Professor." His hands are clenched so tightly around the blankets that his knuckles are completely white. "I didn't mean...I just...Ron came in earlier and was talking about the Potions lesson and Professor Snape asked Neville where you'd find a bezoar but Neville didn't know and now he has to write two foot on the properties of the bezoar and how to get it and he's panicking because he has Potions on Friday and he doesn't know so won't have the essay and Professor Snape will use his entrails in one of his concoctions so I was trying to help but I can't find anything..."

He seemed to run out of breath and gasps. I raise my eyebrows; that is the longest sentence I have ever heard uttered in my years of teaching...and Severus clearly has made his usual impression on the first years.

"Firstly," I bite back my smirk, "Professor Snape is not permitted to use students as ingredients regardless of how many cauldrons they have melted."

If he were the Weasley twins would be long gone I reflect ruefully. If not for their ability to annoy, then for the fact that they constantly annihilate the Slytherin team on the Quidditch pitch.

"Secondly, in answer to your question, a bezoar is an antidote to most known poisons and is located in a goat's stomach. They are usually made of hair, plant fibre, or similar indigestible matter that stays in the gut of an animal and forms a hard ball or "stone". They are used in preparation to many antidotes. I will get Madam Pince to send a couple of relevant books up here if you wish so that you and Neville can research it together." It'll be good for the boy to start making friends. I'll also have a word with Severus about setting impossible tasks to first year students. Two foot on the properties of the bezoar would be beyond most third year students.

With that I walked out of the Hospital Wing only to walk straight into the Weasley boy as he bolted around the corner.

"Sorry Professor, I didn't see you there…" he stuttered.

"Difficult to see anything when you're running around in such an unseemly fashion," I say drily. "Five points from Gryffindor for running in the corridors. May I ask why you are in such an undignified rush?"

"I wanted to drop these notes in for Harry, Professor," he waves a sheathe of parchment in my general direction, "but I'm meant to be in detention with Professor Binns and I don't want to be late."

I raise my eyebrows further. It's unlike Cuthbert to be paying enough attention to the students to assign detentions. Why Albus kept him on after he died is one of Hogwarts many mysteries.

"Pray tell Mister Weasley, how you managed that?"

He blushes brightly, not a look that goes well with his hair in the slightest.

"Well, umm, I thought it would be funny to see if I could get a wad of parchment through the Professors' head," he responds sheepishly. Well, at least he's honest about it.

"If you could save such shots for the Quidditch field next year it would be much appreciated and may save you earning another set of detentions," I comment snidely. If possible the boy goes even more red. "However, your dedication to Mister Potter is noted; ten points to Gryffindor." I nod sharply and leave him gaping in the corridor. Well, he was running for a good reason.

And yet again I find myself heading towards the dungeons.

"Afternoon, Minerva," the snide drawl greets me as I approach. "This is becoming an unfortunate habit. If we are not careful people may start talking."

I fix him with that glare again, the one patented through years of dealing with Black's, Potter's and Weasley's.

"Bezoars, Severus?"


	8. Things That Didn't Happen

**Chapter 8: Things that didn't happen**

"But he's melted five cauldrons!"

That sounded suspiciously like a whine. I can't help but roll my eyes. Severus Snape, Potions Master and exceptionally talented wizard has let an eleven year old get under his skin. I rephrase that in my mind, he's let an eleven year old who doesn't carry the name Potter under his skin.

"Perhaps Severus, the boy might be less inclined to melt cauldrons if he didn't believe you were planning on using his organs as Potions ingredients?" I raise my eyebrows just a fraction as I glare at him. "We are all very well aware of your proclivity to favour your Slytherins but there is little doubt that as far as teaching methods are concerned, when students either believe you are a vampire or are planning on harvesting their organs they do not tend to perform to their highest potential."

He mutters something under his breath which I don't quite catch, although I'm fairly confident the phrase 'blundering idiots' was included in it somewhere. There was possibly also a reference to incompetent dunderheads.

"Honestly Severus," I snap sharply, "the boy is clearly terrified of you. I believe it is our job to teach rather than to terrorise or have I interpreted our roles in the school incorrectly?"

This is not the first time we have had this kind of discussion over the years. Severus is not noted for his patience at the best of times, but he is particularly atrocious with the Gryffindor's. And when it's a Gryffindor with an extraordinary talent for destroying cauldrons his patience is likely to be stretched well past its limits.

"I assume you did not come down here simply to berate me for my dealings with Longbottom, Minerva?" I've clearly touched a nerve and he's seeking to change the topic of conversation.

"You assume correctly, although it bears thinking on that when you are setting impossible tasks to terrified first year students, perhaps your teaching methods may require honing." I raise my eyebrows again and simply look at him…much as I would treat a recalcitrant first year myself.

"Are you telling me how to teach a class, Minerva?" His voice has dropped to that dangerous pitch again.

"I do believe I am," I respond calmly. The rapid blink to his eyes suggests he had expected me to back down at this point. "Do you honestly believe it is unnecessary? Considering that my intervention was required to ensure my first years would not be gaining additional detentions being unable to complete a task most third year students would struggle to complete? Your blatant favouritism can be overlooked, reducing my students into hysterical messes is a little more difficult to condone, Severus."

With that, the ball is firmly back in his court now. Depending on how difficult Severus decides to be this conversation could take a while. It's true though; Slytherin House tends to be ostracised by many of the other tutors in favour of any of the other three Houses. With that in mind we tend to turn a blind eye to Severus' blatant favouritism regardless of how unfair it seems. In reality what we need to be aiming for is House unity and co-operation. Unfortunately that is difficult when the majority of Slytherin House have spent their entire lives in pureblood families which see the mixing of blood as an abomination. When you add into the cauldron the family rivalries that are often already in place when younger siblings come to the school, it is next to impossible to bring the Houses together.

"What was the other matter you came to discuss, Minerva?" His voice is as close to subservient as I have heard it. He's backing down. Now that makes my life an awful lot easier.

"Do you have access to a pensieve, Severus?" I've said my piece, there's no point in prodding a wounded snake.

"I do, as you are more than aware, Minerva."

"Would you mind collecting it for me? This is probably best seen rather than told."

Truthfully, I don't know how to recount my last dealings with Mister Potter. How could I explain the complete desolation and hopelessness that I felt whilst listening to the boy reciting those Rules his uncle and aunt had set in place, or his complete unthinking acceptance of them. I don't know what to think of it myself, let alone how to explain it to one Potions Master who is bound to reject half of what I say unless he has proof. Additionally the memory will be of great use for Amelia Bones; I've already had Potter go through it once and would prefer to save him repeating the harrowing experience if at all possible.

Severus turns with that characteristic sweeping of his long black robes. If I didn't know better I'd swear he'd enchanted them make that particular movement, however absurd the thought is…although it's less absurd than the thought that he might actually have practiced the motion in a mirror till perfection. The thought alone makes me grin despite myself and I have to school my face into a look of careful contemplation as the man walks back into the room. That doesn't stop me from deciding to research whether a robe-sweeping spell is at all possible once this is over.

He sets his pensieve on the table carefully and then looks at me with the same raised eyebrows that I used earlier.

"I assume you know how to use this, Minerva?" The sarcasm is once again evident.

"Indeed I do," I respond politely before raising my wand to my temple and carefully imagining the memories that I want to be included in the bowl. This doesn't come as naturally to me as it does to either Albus or Severus and takes a great deal more concentration, but eventually I have the entire memory of my meeting with the Potter boy in the pensieve. I look back at Severus and see him eyeing me closely; clearly the amount of effort I expended was not missed despite my efforts.

"Would you care to join me?" I ask carefully holding my hand above the pensieve. I want to see Severus' responses myself.

"Certainly," he responds, without any of his usual arrogance or sarcasm. The sharing of memories directly is not something to be taken lightly. Severus of all people knows this well. "Whenever you are ready."

So together we reach into the pensive and again I am taken aback by the sensations of falling headfirst into my own memories. It is not the first time I have used a pensieve, but there is something deeply disorientating about being plunged into icy cold and dark sensations before regaining your balance in a world which has already been and gone. It is not a sensation I overly enjoy or care to repeat too often. Needs must though.

The memory starts just as I enter the Hospital Wing to find Potter reading the potions text and I'm both watching my own reactions and those of Severus Snape whilst keeping a peripheral view of Potter. I watch the confusion and horror that suffuses my own face at the sight of the child tucked so abjectly into the corner of the bed as well as the similar emotions that play across our Potions Masters face. At the line, You won't believe me, you'll call me a liar and a freak and you'll call uncle and you'll leave me because nobody ever believes me and you'll hate me, I watch the anger slowly creeping onto Severus' face. But it's not just anger. There's understanding and pity warring in his expression. Having heard his earlier explosion at Albus, I now understand why.

By the time Potter has finished reciting his Rules, the man beside me is shaking slightly although he has cleared his expression of any residual anger. I realise suddenly that silent tears are dripping down my own face now, the tears I couldn't afford to let loose in front of Potter regardless of how old I looked at that moment. The tears I never let fall in front of anyone. Severus is too busy watching the boy to notice my unusual show of weakness and I realise he is staring straight into the boy's eyes. Lily's eyes. Eyes clouded by pain and fear. He's not looking at the child as a Potter; he's looking at him and seeing Lily. Lily broken and ashamed. Lily bullied and terrorised. The fury once again lights up his in own eyes.

There's a slight snort at Potter's panicked rush about Neville's entrails being used in one of Severus' own concoctions, but his eyes still haven't left the broken child on the bed. And as the memory ends Severus pulls both of us out of the pensieve with practised ease, leaving us both back in the present time and staring at each other. Neither of us seems able to speak. Finally Severus sweeps out of the room and then returns holding a vial in his left hand. He offers it to me and I look at him questioningly.

"Calming Draft, Minerva," he answered my unspoken question surprisingly mildly. I shook my head trying to indicate that it wasn't necessary, but the insufferable man just rolled his eyes at me. "What have I said previously about foolish Gryffindor pride? You are positively grey, shaking like a leaf and verging on barely restrained hysteria. I may not be a fully trained medical professional but I am more than capable enough of recognising those symptoms."

I find myself being manoeuvred with a surprising amount of gentleness onto one of the sofa's as he pushes the vial into my hand. Thankfully he doesn't mention the tear tracks that must be clear against my skin.

"Potter needs you to be strong for him and this is the quickest way to ensure that you are capable of doing what now needs to be done." His dark eyes are completely serious and as I look at the vial trembling in my hand, I realise he's right. I can't do anything whilst in this state. I swallow the liquid in a single stinging gulp as strong but steady hands push me gently forwards. "Head between your knees until it kicks in." I can almost hear the smirk. "Simple muggle remedy that's remarkably effective."

As the Calming Draft kicks in I can't help but ponder the absurdity of this situation. Severus Snape, the most irritable and intimidating person within the castle walls (with the possible exception of Argus Filch) is actually being comforting. To a Gryffindor none the less. It doesn't happen! I can't help the giggle that escapes me and Severus quickly removes his hand from my shoulder.

"I would have thought you'd be able to handle a standard Calming Draft, Minerva," there's the usual sarcasm back although it's tinted with that strange edge of concern.

"Apologies, Severus," I remark quickly, sitting up slowly and cautiously.

He nods briskly before offering a hand to help me stand. Yet another unusual gesture. Clearly I concerned him more than he's letting on. I stand and wait whilst he briefly glances over my face as if to ensure that there will be no further issues or concerns. His hooded gaze looks at me penetrively before he nods again.

"I don't believe a trip to Poppy is in order," he concludes finally. "Do you feel well enough to continue?"

I nod silently. Severus has already proven that he can plan most efficiently, I'm willing to let him do the same now.

"Right, despite my natural urge to pay the muggle relatives a visit myself..." That feral snarl is back on his face and I could almost pity the uncle if he stood before us now. "I believe it would be more sensible to do this in the official manner. Do you have any problems with allowing Filius and Pomona to view that memory?" He catches my hesitation and reads me perfectly. "If you do not wish to view it again I am more than happy to take that responsibility."

Again I nod silently.

"In that case I will go and fetch Amelia Bones whilst you go and find Filius and Pomona," he looks at me sharply. "I would check with Pomona first as to whether she is willing to witness that particular memory and give warning about what it contains. Her having a sentimental breakdown here will not be beneficial to anyone."

I could almost hear the unspoken words; _Especially me_.

* * *

It didn't take long before everyone was assembled back in Severus' quarters with the pensieve perched neatly between them. Amelia and Filius both looked determined whilst Pomona looked faintly nauseous, Severus simply looked murderous. I took a step back from the pensieve and Filius looked at me questioningly with a silent concern.

"I have already seen this twice," I say quietly. "I do not wish to see it again today."

He nods slowly before stepping towards the pensieve with the others. I sit in silent witness until they return looking as grey and helpless as I feel. Pomona is still crying and Filius, well, I don't know what to say about Filius. Much as when we went to confront Albus there is no smile residing anywhere near his expression, but the anger is dimmer. With Albus he had a target, now we simply have a lost and frightened child.

"I need to take a statement from the boy," Amelia speaks bluntly as she turns towards me.

"No," I respond equally. "I stated before he should be considered fit enough to leave the Hospital Wing by the end of the week and you are free to take a statement then. You have mine and Severus' memories and Madam Pomfrey's report which is more than enough to go with for the moment. There is little need to take a statement when there is such clear evidence without it; that memory alone would stand up in a court. But should one be truly necessary, any interviews with Mister Potter will take place with either myself or Poppy at hand to call an end to it if we believe it necessary. I will not have him subjected to any more trauma."

"So what do you want to do?" she asks.

"I need to ensure he is safe," I respond simply. "I need to ensure that he is in no further danger from adults in any format," I glance sharply over at Severus. "I also need to ensure he has a willing and safe home to go to. For this to happen I need us to work together. As Heads of House we all need to monitor Mister Potter's behaviour in class and the behaviour of those close to him. We need to watch how he is treated and how much of an effect his previous upbringing has on his ability to participate in class. Any further support that needs to be given must be reported to me."

I look each of them in the eye.

"More than anything, we need to stick together if we are challenged regarding the decision to remove the boy from his current guardians. Albus has some very high flying connections and is well loved and trusted." I look at Amelia carefully. "That is where you come in Amelia, we need a decent home found for the boy as soon as it is possible to do so; the quicker we move the less chance there is of an retaliation being made. You are best placed for this."

I wait until she nods before continuing.

"We also need something done about the muggle relatives. Have you found anything out?"

Amelia looks at me carefully before speaking.

"If we are willing to use the wizarding courts and justice system then Mister Potter will never have to make a statement if he does not wish to. Your memories and testimony will be enough to implement Veritaserum on the muggle relatives and gain testimony that way, however if this goes through the wizarding word it will become Daily Prophet headlines within the week." She scrutinises me carefully. "Is that what you think is best for Mister Potter?"

I close my eyes and sigh. Rita Skeeter would have a field day. _'The-Boy-Who-Lived Left To Rot Alone', 'The School That Abandoned The-Boy-Who-Lived', 'Hogwarts Attempts To Cover Up Child Abuse Scandal Regardless of Lightning Shaped Scar'_. It would never stop and it would get more personal to Harry himself as Rita tried to dig out every little bit of information she could about the house in which he had lived and the people he had lived with. He would no longer be Harry Potter The-Boy-Who-Lived, but Harry Potter The-Boy-Who-Was-Abused, and he would be known as it across the country if not the world. Could I do that to him?

Amelia clearly notices where my thoughts have gone and speaks again.

"An alternative would be to use the muggle justice systems, but Mister Potter would have to make some form of statement and probably appear in court. Their police department would want to speak with him and question him as well as us. There would also be discrepancies in explaining where the boy is going to school or living when as far as the muggles are concerned, we don't exist."

"Yes, that could be problematic," I agree. "But we have to do something."

"Indeed we do," the other woman agreed. "I will begin making enquiries with the muggle authorities."

I swear I just saw her exchange a pointed look with Severus. Did the Head of Magical Law Enforcement just do that? Does she realise what she's just effectively given him permission for?

I am going to forget I ever saw that look.

It didn't happen.


	9. Regrets and Responsibilities

**Chapter 9: Regrets and Responsibilities**

"What have you done with the Dursley's?"

I had been called up to Albus' office on some spurious excuse regarding the new Prefects so had no doubt that this meeting would have something to do with Potter. Albus doesn't become involved in reviewing the Prefects until close to the end of year when we are looking for a Head Boy and Head Girl. As soon as I entered the room I was certain that my assumption was not incorrect. It's rare to see our esteemed Headmaster lose control of his emotions, but he is dangerously close now.

I school my face into something resembling confused exasperation.

"What are you talking about, Albus?" I deliberately don't quite look Albus in the eye; not far off, close enough to seem accidental but giving him the opportunity to take that last meeting with Amelia and Severus does not seem wise. "I have had no contact with Mister Potter's relatives. My role was to ensure the legal aspects of removing him from that house were set in motion. The only person who would have gone to see them would be Amelia Bones."

I wait patiently. Albus is pacing around his office looking thunderous.

"I very much doubt that an entire muggle family disappearing without a trace or explanation has anything to do with the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Minerva."

"They've disappeared?" It's a good job I never asked Severus what he was going to do, it's an accepted fact that I am a horrendous liar. The skills which Severus learned by necessity and Albus by instinct are not natural to me; I tell it like it is and that's the way I'll continue to be.

"You didn't know?" He looks at me speculatively before sighing heavily and sitting down. Steepling his fingers together carefully on the desk he looks at me seriously over those half-moon spectacles of his before speaking again. "You promise me, Minerva. You don't know?"

"I have no idea," I respond more or less honestly. I might have an idea about who is behind this mysterious disappearance but no more than a guess I tell myself. "Albus, you know me better than that."

He looks at me again with that speculative gaze before dropping his eyes to the table.

"I'm unsure how well I know anyone any more, Minerva," he says heavily. I can't help quirking my eyebrows slightly; _Albus_ doesn't know who he can trust anymore? To steal a marvellous muggle phrase, now that's the cat calling the kettle black. How does he think the rest of us caught up in this mess feel? "You, Filius, even Severus…" he trails off dejectedly.

"Albus, that is exactly how we are feeling," I say gently. "We trusted you, we have always trusted you."

"I only wanted to do what was best for the boy, I just wanted him to be safe." There's no twinkle in those bright blue eyes and he sounds completely sincere. I just wish I could believe him. "Petunia sealed the blood wards. I knew he wouldn't be in the happiest of families, but I thought he'd be fine. He was safe."

"Except he wasn't, was he, Albus?" Even if he is genuinely regretting how Potter was treated, it is still ten years too late. "You failed him, Albus. You failed him, you failed me, you failed all of us. We trusted you." My voice cracks without my permission. "God damnit Albus, I've failed him. I failed him because I listened to you, believed you, trusted you. Lily would never forgive me." I look at him, the greatest wizard of all time, the leader of all that is light and I feel my heart breaking. "I don't think I can forgive you for that. I don't think I should."

I turn to walk towards the door but stop as I hear a faint choked sob from behind me, so soft that I almost missed it. If it hadn't been for my years of honing my hearing to catch the whispered asides from students, I probably would have missed it. I turn back, unwilling to believe what I am certain I've just heard, but my ears did not deceive me. Albus is standing facing towards his study, but the slight shake to his shoulders is unmistakable. The man I would have followed to death and beyond, the rock of my existence is crying.

"Albus…" I say softly.

His shoulders straighten and I can sense rather than see the effort it takes to steady himself.

"I believe you have made your views perfectly clear, Minerva" His tone is controlled, even harsh, but the decades I have spent walking at Albus' side allow me to hear how flat he sounds, how tired. "I believe that you missed your cue to leave."

It would be so easy to walk out of that door right now, so easy to leave the meddling fool to whatever is preying on his mind. It's not as if he doesn't deserve it. It's not even as if I give a rotten fig about those abusive muggles or what might have befallen them. But in conscience, I cannot. I have stood by this man's side too long to do that.

I was by his side through the dark days of Grindelwald and the even darker days of You-Know-Who. I watched him wrestle with his conscience over Grindelwald, how he dithered and fretted because of their childhood friendship, how he very nearly let his emotions win. I watched him make one of the hardest decisions of his life and stand by it. I witnessed his stoic grief as we lost friends, family, colleagues, and allies in the last war and how his strength and compassion kept us standing strong no matter how great the loss. I saw his obvious grief and guilt at the death of Lily and James, his honest and true sorrow as the death toll mounted day after day after day with no end in sight. I can attest to his pure consternation over the fate of Alice and Frank Longbottom as well as the long nights he spent trying to find some way to reverse the damage.

I was by his side then and throughout everything the man in front of me was my rock, my foundation, my strength. I never doubted him. Now? I'm disillusioned and wary but I cannot turn my back on the one man who has been the centre of my very world. I cannot walk away from such a history without a backwards glance. To do so would be to go against the very nature of the universe. And despite everything, my chest is tight and thoughts flying because through all these years, all the dark days and the horror, I have never seen Albus cry. I have seen him guilt-ridden, I have seen him grieving. I have certainly seen him angry and even vengeful. But I have never seen him breaking. He has been wounded, threatened and assaulted on all sides, he has lost close friends on a daily basis and shouldered the burden of being the one everyone looked to and trusted yet always stayed strong. Now I am faced with an old friend, the rock to so many of us…crying.

"Albus…" I say again, so softly that it's barely audible as I walk slowly forwards. "Albus…I…" I stop hesitantly.

He turns to face me and although I had expected it, the tears glistening in those blue eyes still shocks me right down to my core.

"I said you can go now, Professor. You have made your feelings clear."

He looks so old, so tired, so weary. But at the same time something about him reminds me of the very children I teach when they have reached the limit of what they can cope with. As he sits heavily in the chair I can't help but notice a stray tear falling down his cheek.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," I snap. "If you think I'm leaving you like this you have another thing coming."

Albus doesn't look up as he responds and once again I am struck by how lifeless his voice sounds. How desolate.

"I did what I thought was right," I hold in a snort. "I only wanted to protect the child…"

He sounds somewhat like a broken record but the pain in his face is so evident there is no way on this earth that I'd point that out to him. There's no way I can leave. I have no option other than to simply stand and listen.

"I didn't want him growing up with the inflated ego that so many magical families would have given him. The boy would have been revered and spoilt for something he would never remember doing. He'd never have known a normal childhood." I desperately want to point out that he didn't have a normal childhood anyway, just for very different reasons but hold my tongue. "But more than that, I knew that half of Voldemort's followers wouldn't go to Azkaban and they'd be furious at the loss of their Dark Lord. They'd want revenge and the only way to get revenge would be on a child who had no idea how much chaos he had just caused. He wouldn't have survived the week."

Albus stops speaking and looks directly at me for the first time since he turned around and once again I am shocked by how weary he looks.

"I did what I thought best," he sighs. "And in case I was wrong I stationed Arabella Fig to keep an eye on the boy over the years."

"And she never reported anything back to you those ten years," I raise my eyebrows sardonically. "She never mentioned that he was getting beaten on a daily basis? Or that he had to live in a cupboard? Maybe that he was malnourished to the point of near death? Or even that he believed himself to be a freak, unworthy of love or attention, unworthy to even eat without express permission, unworthy to go to the toilet?" My voice is rising without even trying. "A freak, Albus. Not even worthy of the title 'human'."

The flinch Albus gives is unmistakable and I can't help feeling a vague sense of satisfaction flow through me. There's complete silence in the room as I wait patiently for a response, I watch Albus carefully as he struggles to keep himself together.

"She didn't say that," he finally concedes.

"So what did she say, Albus? What did she tell you? Did she tell you about the broken bones or the concussions? Did she mention the fear and the nights alone? Did she bother to let you know that she was living next to a hurting, terrified little boy who thought his parents had died in a car crash?"

The look of shock on his face equals the anger that is a rising tide in my chest, barely being kept under control by the rigid self-control I pride myself so strongly on.

"Did she tell you, Albus? And if she didn't, did you bother to ask?"

I leave the room without looking back at Albus but I stop at the door.

"I don't know what's happened to the Dursleys, but you'd better hope they have gone a long, long way from here because with the Gods as my witness I will not hold myself responsible for my actions if I get my hands on them."

If I don't leave now there is no chance that I will be able to keep a handle on my frayed temper. It's a good job that Potter has now been let out of the Hospital Wing as at least that is a weight off my mind, but I'm more shaken than I have been in all of my many years of working at Albus' side. He seemed honestly distraught, but whether that is due to the trust and respect he has lost or the state of the boy, I don't know.

Poppy has even given reluctant permission for Potter to join in with the flying lessons providing he takes it easy and doesn't over exert himself. He's on the mend although it is going to take quite a while longer before his attitude starts to change; trying to get the boy to answer questions or speak out in class is like getting blood from a stone. It's clear he's listening to everything that is said, he takes detailed notes and ensures that all of his assignments are handed in on time, no member of staff can complain about his work. He's just so shy it's painful to watch, he's desperate not to bring attention to himself.

I'm more grateful than ever for the Weasley boy. Potter appears to have decided to stick to him like glue; where one goes the other is right behind. Had it been me, my temper would have been getting frayed by now with the constant lack of solitude or personal space but I guess growing up with six siblings' leaves you rather oblivious to that kind of attitude. In fact the newest addition to our red-headed clan seems to revel in it; Potter's dependency on him has given him a chance to shine regardless of how many older brothers are vying for attention. It would not surprise me if those two are soon closer than brothers themselves.

Now I just need to try to find a way to make Miss Granger fit in. A Gryffindor with the head of a Ravenclaw without a doubt; it wouldn't surprise me if she'd digested every textbook before she got here. She can spit out textbook answers without hesitation or issue but doesn't appear to have the same genius in making friends or any form of social abilities for that matter. If anything her never ceasing keenness and constantly waving arm is gaining her the irritation and frustration of her peers.

I've got an easier job than Severus though. He's got an entire clan of Death Eater kids this year.

No, I don't envy him that.


	10. Father's Footsteps

**Chapter 10: Father's Footsteps**

In all honesty this year is already making me extremely edgy and uncomfortable, and we are less than a month in. Even before Potter turned up there was too much going on and too many secrets, then the boy turned up and things took an even stranger turn. Albus' plans for this year had always unsettled me, but I'd let them slide past me in the belief that he always knew what he was doing. Now I'm not so sure. We have a school of children between the ages of eleven and eighteen; that in itself is a bubbling pit of chaos, hormones and confusion. Except Albus has added the Philosopher's Stone into the equation. Of all things to keep in the castle we are harbouring the stone that gives eternal life let alone eternal wealth. I'll be the first to admit that the majority of students wouldn't know what it is even if they held it in their own two hands but still, it's the principle of the thing.

Then to make matters worse, in his attempts to protect the Stone, Albus has 'borrowed' a three-headed dog from Hagrid which is one of the most vicious, ill-mannered and dangerous creatures I have ever had the misfortune of seeing. Not only do we have a huge killing machine in the castle but for some reason beyond my comprehension it is kept behind a single door on a third floor corridor which can be opened with a simple alohomora spell; it beggars belief. Any competent first year could get through that door if they wanted to and then find themselves met with a monstrosity that will kill them as soon as look at them with one of its three heads. Albus hasn't even bothered to put the counter charm in place, seemingly naively believing his warning at the beginning of term will stop the students from exploring. He appears to have forgotten that we have the Weasley twins who are repeatedly found in the Forbidden Forest very possibly simply because it's forbidden.

But most worrying of all is that thought that the stone can bring everlasting life. I haven't forgotten my conversation with Severus, not by a long shot _. "He's a shadow of himself but he is not gone." "Trust me Minerva, sources say he is currently hiding in Albania but how long he'll stay there is another matter entirely. He is going to come back."_ He's a shadow of himself. Could the Philosopher's Stone be enough to bring He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named back? Is that why Albus is so desperate to hide the Stone here? Is that why he wanted us to set up that ridiculous set of tasks in front of the Stone? In that case the one thing that You-Know-Who will want more than anything else in the world at this moment in time is ensconced here at Hogwarts. It is here, surrounded by innocent children and defended with a series of challenges that would keep an average witch or wizard out, but certainly would be no match for that particular challenger. It's mind boggling.

But despite all of these concerns I don't seem to be able to shake the look in Albus' eyes before I left his office. His obvious weariness and grief is haunting me like some kind of phantom. My gut instinct is that it was genuine, that I wasn't meant to observe his breakdown. But for the first time in many years I find myself second guessing myself and my interpretations, I am unsure as to how much of my own instincts I can believe. If I have been so wrong for so many years then all of my dealings with Albus need to be carefully scrutinised, I cannot afford to make the same mistakes again. Ignorance is my only excuse for my failures so far, it is a poor enough excuse to begin with and it cannot be used twice.

My meandering walk has taken me into the castle grounds without even realising where my feet were heading; I was far too lost in my thoughts to pay a great deal of attention to the surroundings around me. But the sight of three forms in the air catches my attention; there is not enough of them for it to be a Quidditch practice and if I am not mistaken it's the first year flying practices this afternoon. But why are only three of them in the air? And why are they so high? Madam Hooch ensures that first year classes don't do much more than hover at this point in the year; much to the purebloods annoyance as they have often been on broomsticks since before they can walk. But as far as Rolanda is concerned it's the only way to keep a level playing field between the muggle born and those born to well-known families, as well as an easy way to weed out all the bad habits that they have taught themselves. Sensible as far as I'm concerned. But something is wrong and I find my pace has now quickened and become purposeful.

All three of them are flying purposefully, two of them apparently stalking the third figure and there's none of the hesitation you would expect to see from first years. There is no way this is part of the planned lesson. Then suddenly the smallest of the three figures starts a completely horizontal dive and I've broken into a run, but I know instinctively that I have no chance of reaching them before he hits the ground and I know just as well that there is no way a first year could pull off the dive that is unfolding in front of me. He is going to hit the ground head first; he's going too quickly with too little control and I can hear the screams from the first year group in front of me. This is going to end in disaster and there is nothing I can do to stop it. I wouldn't trust a sixth year to complete that manoeuvre and I've seen enough of them try, but on the old school brooms it is effectively a suicidal gesture. But no matter how fast I run, regardless of how far outstretched my wand is there is no way I can get there in time.

My heart is thudding against my chest, I'm yelling without even knowing what words are coming out of my mouth and I barely care as I have just realised which first year is making that suicidal dive. There isn't another student that small, and I can see the red hair of his companion from here. The realisation makes my chest tighter than I thought possible and I find myself running faster than anyone of my age should be capable of, wand outstretched in a desperate yet completely ineffectual bid to stop that child from hitting the ground at the speed he's going at. And then I stop. Because despite all the logic, despite the complete impossibility of the feat, the broom has slowed and turned upwards allowing the boy to roll lightly off it and scramble to his feet holding something glinting slightly in the sunlight up for everyone to see as his classmates cheer. Part of me wants to scream at him and part of me wants to hug him. That doesn't stop me from breaking back into a more leisurely run as I approach the group.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER!" It doesn't surprise me to see the Weasley boy land carefully beside Potter, nor does the fact that both of them are shaking like a leaf. Closely following him is Draco Malfoy, which doesn't surprise me either; that child has a knack for causing trouble and creating followers. His two giant friends are living proof of that. I'm going to do something about him as well before he gets out of hand.

"Never – in all my time at Hogwarts…" I can barely speak past my thudding heart and pure shock. I can't believe the boy is still in one piece, and the relief mingling with the realisation of what could have just happened leaves me speechless. Speechless and furious. "What in heaven and earth possessed you…" I spit out venomously. "How dare you!? You could have broken your neck with that foolhardy dive! I don't how you didn't…"

"It wasn't his fault, Professor…"

"Be quiet, Miss Patil. I notice you had the sense to stay on the ground in the absence of Madam Hooch.

"But Malfoy –"

"As for you," I turn to face the youngest Weasley sharply, "you have an equal amount of explaining to do."

He withers before my glare and I glance at Malfoy who has separated himself from the two Gryffindor's and is looking unbearably smug. The instigator of this incident is clear, although he at least had the brains not to attempt a fifty foot dive. Looking back at Potter I begin to regret my tone of voice though as once again that look of absolute terror has overtaken his features and he's doing everything he can to seem as small as possible. He's not one to disobey the rules, whatever had him up in the air against orders, and there's no way Rolanda would have left them without strict orders, must have seemed important at the time.

"I followed Malfoy, Professor," Weasley stuttered and stammered, shaking almost as hard as Potter. "He'd taken Neville's Remembrall, and Neville is in the Hospital Wing 'cause he broke his wrist…"

"So you decided to recover it yourself rather than fetching a Professor?" I remark snidely.

"I told you that you'd get us all into trouble," the voice of Granger is unmistakable even without turning around. I hear it enough in class nearly enough to start hearing it in my dreams. "I warned you."

"That's enough from you as well, Miss Granger. Your input is not necessary." Harsh, but the sooner she learns to stop acting as if she's better than the rest of the class, the sooner she might actually make some friends. "Continue, Mr Weasley."

"Well, umm, yeah. I grabbed the broom and followed him. But I couldn't get it back on my own, so I yelled for Harry to come up and join me…" I roll my eyes at the joint stupidity of children. "But Malfoy threw the Remembrall and there was no way I could have caught it but Harry…" he stops and looks at his feet.

"But Mister Potter successfully caught it after a dive that even your brother couldn't have managed?"

The power of speech appears to have completely deserted him and I look across the three boys. One grinning as though his Christmas had come early, one close to being a trembling wreck on the floor and one quite clearly terrified of what he'd gotten his friend into.

"Do not think I have forgotten your part in this, Mister Malfoy," I say without turning and I sense rather than see his smirk disappearing. "An immediate punishment of ten points from Slytherin for being on a broom without permission as well as another ten points for taking another students property without their permission and attempting to destroy it."

"But, Professor! That's not –"

"I would stop there, Mister Malfoy. It is perfectly reasonable and I will also be taking ten points from Gryffindor. You will report to Professor Snape for detention tomorrow, he will set the time. As for you two…" I glance at my two Gryffindor's, my hot-headed and foolhardy Gryffindor's. "…follow me."

I start walking back towards the castle, firmly expectant that neither boy will disobey that order. In reality I should have taken points from both of them, but considering the Malfoy boy was clearly the one to start it I don't have the heart. I catch the whispered conversation from behind me, or at least the one sided whispers from the Weasley.

"If she was going to expel us, we'd already be out and she wouldn't have taken points from Gryffindor, Harry. She took half as many from us anyway. Don't know what she's gonna do instead though…do you think they allow physical punishments…Fred and George have never said though and they've done loads of stuff whilst they've been here, I'm sure they'd have mentioned it. They brag enough about their detentions… Harry, why have you stopped? Come on, we don't want to get in any more trouble."

As he spoke I had already realised that the footsteps behind me had stopped and I could guess the reason. Mister Potter more than remembered the beatings and the injuries he had received from his relatives and the thought that I might do the same would be more than enough to stop him in his tracks. I turned back both expecting and dreading the tears I'd see glistening in his eyes as all his fears came back to the surface.

"Mister Weasley, we do not live in the dark ages anymore." I can see the relief shining in his own eyes; it had clearly been a valid fear despite his protests. I smile slightly. "I can assure you, you will not appreciate the alternative either though, your mother will be hearing of your exploits today."

A punishment I've discovered even works on the Weasley twins. He pales significantly and I smile grimly.

"But Mister Potter has no reason to fear corporal punishment, that I promise you." His green eyes fix on mine and I can see both the fear and the hope there. "I don't make promises lightly, Mister Potter. You can trust me."

We continue through the castle as I consider my options. My initial wave of fury has long since passed, although my heart is still beating faster than ordinarily but I have had a little time to think. He caught that darn thing from a straight fifty foot dive and I wasn't exaggerating when I said that Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it. One of the best Quidditch players Hogwarts has seen in recent years could not have caught it, and yet a first year with no flying experience managed it. More than that, if I can find a loophole to the first year Quidditch rule it might just give Potter a certain amount of confidence in his own abilities and a new friendship group…as well as giving Gryffindor a chance in this year's Quidditch tournament.

"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

I see Potter's head fly up again with that same terror and I give him an encouraging smile. He calms down as the fifth year steps out of the door looking just as confused and concerned as the young Weasley does. It's not every day your Head of House summons you out of a class without warning and I can almost see his thoughts as he tries to figure out what he's done wrong.

I bring the baffled group into an empty classroom and banish Peeves without even thinking. Flicking my wand to wipe the blackboard of the obscenities Peeve's had been writing on it, I wonder vaguely how he came to have such a wide and varied vocabulary of swear words when swearing isn't a regular occurrence in public unless a student wishes to lose house points quickly. Particularly when the rest of his vocabulary is nowhere near as varied. One of life's many mysteries I suppose. I turn back to the boys.

"Potter, this is Oliver Wood . Wood – I've found you a Seeker."

The look on Wood's face is an absolute picture. He goes from puzzled, to astonished to delighted in less than a couple of seconds. No wonder, our Seeker last year was dreadful; didn't manage to catch a single snitch. I'd agree having a decent set of Chasers and Beaters is important, and no one is going to deny the effectiveness of the Weasley twins as Beaters; they're effectively a pair of human bludgers themselves. Unfortunately, without a decent Seeker you are losing from the word go.

"Are you serious, Professor?"

I refrain from rolling my eyes. He's almost bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet like an overexcited toddler with a new toy just out of reach. Weasley's jaw has dropped so far he might as well be catching flies; I refrain from pointing this out to him.

"Absolutely," I remark sharply. 'The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?'

Potter just looks at me blankly, clearly not understanding how the situation has changed so quickly. I'm reassured by the fact that the majority of the fear has left his eyes though. Eventually he nods slightly silently.

"He caught this thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive," I say with an edge of pride to my voice that I can't seem to hide as I hold the Remembrall up for Wood to see. His eyes widen unmistakably as they flicker between the clear fist sized ball and the under sized first year in front of him. "Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."

Immediately Wood starts circling the poor lad and eyeing him as if he were a new broomstick out on the market. Potter had regained that cornered look and I could tell he was desperately trying to find a way out of this so I step between the two boys purposefully.

"That's enough for now, Wood," I remark sharply but let a slight smile soften my words. That lad lives and breathes for Quidditch. "I believe we are overwhelming Mister Potter here, this conversation can wait till tomorrow. I am certain Mister Weasley can fill him in on the intricacies of Quidditch in their dormitories."

I look directly at the youngest Weasley and watch a grin take over his face; clearly Quidditch runs just as much in this one's blood as it seems to in the majority of that family.

"Youngest Quidditch player in a century!" I hear Wood muttering. "We'll be the stuff of legends!"

"If it means I can look Professor Snape in the eye at the end of this year's matches," I comment drily, "I will do everything in my power to bend the first-year rule. Do try not to get flattened again though." And turning back to Potter I smile again as I say, "Your father would be proud. He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

With that I lead the two boys down to the Hospital Wing so they can reunite the lost Remembrall with its rightful owner. With any luck Weasley will be that excited about this turn of events he'll bring Longbottom in on it, heaven knows that boy needs to find some friends and his confidence for that matter. At best guess Augusta has spent the last last ten years comparing him unfavourably to his parents, which would explain a great deal of his reticence and nervousness. I've even heard him comparing himself to a Squib…something needs to be done about that. I'm just not quite sure what yet. I might give him wand a glance over once he's recovered though, there's every chance that Augusta has followed the pureblood tradition and given him his father's wand. Nothing wrong with the inheritance of wands of course, but usually you are given a choice and a chance to see if any of the other ancestral wands fit as well. It would not surprise me if the boy has never laid hands on a different wand and as Ollivander is more than known for saying; the wand choses the wizard not the other way round…and sons do not automatically follow in their father's footsteps.

Leaving the two boys at the Hospital Wing entrance I start walking back down to the dungeons. Severus is correct, I am spending far too much time down there…but I have several things I need to take care of. Firstly, the defences for the Philosopher's Stone need improving with or without Albus' permission or for that matter knowledge. And I'll ask Flitwick to put the counter charm on that door; three-headed dogs should not be hidden behind a simple locked door, particularly not with the Weasley twins in attendance. Secondly, I need to bypass the first year rule about Quidditch and owning a broomstick…that will probably be easier, but warning Severus in advance may well prevent the complete meltdown that is otherwise highly probable. Finally, I need to persuade Severus to do something about one Draco Malfoy; favouritism or not that boy has the chance to go completely off the rails and we do not need a second Lucius Malfoy; one is more than enough. As I go I summon a couple of house-elves to take hastily scribbled summons to Filius and Pomona, once again I need a full meeting of the Heads of House.

Tense and highly strung though this year has proven to be so far, it's certainly proven to be the most interesting in quite a while.

With any luck the drama will stop now.

Why do I think that's unlikely?


	11. Trust Given and Truth Earned

**Chapter 11: Trust Given and Truth Earned**

It was something of a surprise to find Severus pacing outside the entrance to the dungeon I must admit. It was even more of a shock when upon hearing my footsteps he looked up with a plain look of relief on his sallow face. For a fraction of a second I wondered whether I'd sent one of the house elves to him by mistake, but within seconds that thought was displaced as another house elf appeared from nowhere to stand in front of me.

"Mistress, I is to carry an urgent message from Master Snape please."

After all these years I still haven't figured out how the house elves manage to do that. I know that no human or elf for that matter would be able to sneak up on me from behind, but somehow they seem to just appear despite Hogwarts apparition wards. The look of confusion on Severus' face is unmistakable though. Clearly he had expected me...I just didn't yet know I was expected.

"I do believe Professor Snape can give his message to me personally now," I say kindly to the small form in front of me. "You can go back to your other duties."

Or at least I'd intended to be kindly. I certainly hadn't expected the elf to throw itself on the floor in front of Severus whilst banging its head against the stone floor. That's exactly what it did though.

"I failed my Master." Bang. "I didn't find Mistress quickly enough." Bang. "Mistress wasn't where I expected..."

I'd already closed my eyes. I haven't yet found a way to stop a house elf from punishing themselves but I can't bear to watch. Severus' once more surprised me though.

"Stop this foolishness at once, Silvia." The command in his tone is unmistakable, but despite the firm stance there is no malice or dismissal in his voice. "The fault was not yours and I will not have you punishing yourself for it. I had not anticipated Professor McGonagall making a detour to the dungeons of her own accord so you could not have been expected to know where to find her."

The house elf, Silvia, stopped hitting her head against the floor almost as soon as Severus spoke the first words and I find my respect rising yet further for our Potions Master.

"You may go and do what you wish now," a slight smile is curving on Severus' lips as he speaks, his voice is almost soft. "But I will make it clear that I will be severely displeased if you punish yourself further for this. And I will know."

"Of course, Master." It stood up swiftly. "Silvia would never disobey Master's orders. Even when Silvia is a bad elf and deserves it, if Master needs Silvia she is always ready."

With that the elf seemed to disappear again leaving me just as disorientated as when it appeared and I look at Severus in shock.

"You are surprised I treat her as an equal?"

"Well, no I merely expected..." I falter off and I know I sound ridiculous.

"Don't even try to dissemble, Minerva. We both know you are hopeless at it. In answer to your unasked question she's one of my family house elves passed down from my grandmother," he summarises curtly. "If I gave her clothes it would break her heart, so I allowed her to follow me to Hogwarts. The rest are happy keeping the manor, but having nursed me as a child Silvia appears to hold a strong connection to me. She generally helps the Hogwarts house elves in their duties but is loyal to me and me alone."

It appears Severus does have a heart after all then. And again, it's shown towards the weakest and most powerless in our society. It almost scares me; Silvia treated Severus as a master certainly, but a master with no intent to control or to punish. He treated her as closer to an equal than I treat our house elves. He treated her with respect. I look up to find his dark gaze fixed on me. We move without speaking further until we are inside his office. The only difference from last time is he appears to have purchased a set of rats which are set in the corner. I dread to think what he's using them for.

"Well, Minerva. It would appear I am not the only one with matters of importance to discuss, although I have the decency to send a messenger before turning up unannounced."

His voice is as snide as usual, but he is using too many words. Severus does not babble and yet I fear, despite the cool and calculating tone, he is as close to losing control than I have ever seen him.

"You first then, Severus," I say calmly. "I would just warn you that Filius and Pomona are going to invade your quarters again in approximately..." I cast a quick charm. "...forty five minutes."

"I can trust you?"

When he first said it I assumed it was a statement of fact, but the silence grew. The silence kept growing oppressively around us until I actually looked into his eyes and what I saw there shook me more than I could ever have anticipated. And then I look, really look closely at his body language. The easy way he commanded the house elf whilst being respectful misled me. Looking at him now I can see more than ever the wounded child and it takes my breath away. He's actually asking me. He's begging me.

"Of course, Severus," I respond more calmly than I feel. "Anything you wish to discuss will be treated in the strictest of confidence."

Thankfully Severus is not a man who requires vast amounts of repeated reassurances, he tends to rely on his intelligence and gut instinct to make assessments. He has to, he wouldn't have survived being a double crossing pet informer to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named without his instincts and judgement. But it bothers me that he has to ask at all, that he felt it necessary to seek that reassurance. I know it has nothing to do with his opinion of me; if he was doubting his gut instincts about me I would not have been asked to come at all and if he feared his intelligence was not complete then I would not be the one he asked.

No, that was not a sign of mistrust. It was a basic, deep-rooted need for reassurance, the kind of reassurance that a child looks for from the grown-ups they hold closest to their hearts; their mother, their father, their teachers or their priest. So yes, it disturbs me greatly that Severus felt the need to ask, it bothers me that one of the most closed off and isolated people I know has just effectively asked the adult equivalent of 'Promise you won't laugh at me?'...it deeply concerns me that whatever he called me down here for has shaken him so deeply that he is looking for comfort from me.

"I have suspicions that a member of staff at Hogwarts is not what he appears to be," when Severus finally speaks he's guarded and his eyes are flickering up and down. "I fear we are harbouring someone with strong connections to the Dark Lord at best. At worst...I am uncertain."

Again, the way he phrased that has my hackles raised. For the second time this afternoon he is close to babbling; too many words and not enough actual information. It's most unlike the man I know. I have rarely seen him nervous, but if I were a gambler I'd be willing to bet a fair share of the McGonagall fortune on the fact that the man in front of me is not just nervous; he's scared.

"Severus, you know I will need more information than that if you expect me to do anything,"

My words may seem harsh but Severus has never been one to accept comfort in the forms of hugs and fluffy kittens. His reassurance will come from the fact that I will not panic, I will remain calm and in control and he will have someone he can rely on. He needs someone he can lean on to be strong, even if it is only for a briefest period of time. I'd bet an equal share of my inheritance that come tomorrow, Severus will pretend this moment of weakness never happened and he will manage to pretend so well that he will even convince himself. But he won't forget. Neither will I.

"Minerva, I haven't felt...I don't know..." he trails off. But it isn't his hesitancy that gets my attention, although that is worrying enough. It's his right hand I'm watching, and it moves across to his left arm protectively, instinctively. I doubt he even realises what he's done.

"The Dark Mark responded."

I'm making this up as I go along, but Severus needs someone to take control now. He would normally report to Albus but he has chosen to report to...me. I had forgotten that Albus was not only my cornerstone until now, if anything the broken, bitter man in front of me relied on the our leader far more than me. And I have left him without a leader.

"Yes."

The lost and frightened child has vanished, but so has the Severus I know; snide, sniping and sanctimonious. Replacing it is an almost feral growl and it shakes me to my core. The man in front of me is someone to both fear and pity, it is a man who knows he's going to hell and can't see anything else. You fear him because he can kill you. You pity him because he regrets every life lost.

"Yes, Minerva. The Dark Mark responds," he hisses.

I have never seen Severus in this state before and I find myself backing away a couple of steps for all the good that will do.

"The Dark Mark burns," His eyes are fixed on mine and I don't dare look away. I don't fear Severus forcing his way into my mind, but I do recognise a gift when it's offered. He is offering up his Truth, but I believe him without it.

"Who?"

I don't break eye contact. I stay completely still, looking directly at him until he breaks.

"Quirrell."

It was a sob rather than a name but I can understand why; he doesn't expect me to believe him. Quirrell is a quivering wreck, scared of his own shadow let alone the students he teaches. To think that he is associated with anything even remotely dark seems ridiculous. And if it wasn't Severus in front of me and if he didn't seem so desperate then I'd have laughed him and his idea straight out of this room. But it is Severus and desperation is not a look that sits well on his features. In fact it scares me. And something in his eyes makes me speak.

"Albania. Quirrell was in Albania."

My blood has run cold as the implications run through me but to my horror Severus nods.

"He was indeed. And no matter what state the Dark Lord was left in, Quirrell would have been little contest for him. But this is more than someone simply meddling in the Arts that they don't truly understand, Minerva. For the Mark to respond like this…it is like a lesser version of being called to the Dark Lord whenever I am near him and it unlike anything I have experienced before. Somehow the Mark recognises that stuttering, quivering mess of a wizard as Master and Lord and it's calling to him.

There's a long silence following Severus' words. I am the first to admit that my understanding of the Dark Arts is exceptionally limited; it has never been an area to pull me towards it. Because of that I have little comprehension of the Dark Mark, but I'd somehow viewed it as a mere mark not unlike a muggle tattoo. I understood that power could be directed through it both in order to summon and to inflict punishment, but the way Severus is speaking about it now is almost as if it is sentient in its own right; as if it can think and react of its own accord. That's quite a scary thought.

"The Mark has a magical signature which is part of the Dark Lord's own," again Severus is answering the question I didn't quite dare to ask. "It is not fully aware, but it recognises the father signature which created it and will make it whole so it seeks it. That is why when the Dark Lord was defeated the Mark faded; the magical signature it feeds off was no longer strong enough to sustain it in its full form. So now it seeks the Master, and it's found it."

I am unsure which is more disturbing; that Quirrell could be carrying some semblance of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named with him or that Severus is marked with a part of His very being. And both of them are in a school of defenceless children. I can hear the quaver in my voice when I respond.

"But why, Severus? Why come here?"

"Surely that should be blatantly obvious to you by now, Minerva?"

His response is curt and sharp but I'd be blind if I didn't see the tension coiled in the younger man's shoulders. He's not snapping at me necessarily because of what I said, he is lashing out in anger and fear at whoever is closest. It would be pointless to respond in kind, but equally ineffectual to offer bland reassurances. We both know this has gone beyond that and I cannot lie to him.

"The Philosopher's Stone," I say wearily. "He wants the Philosopher's Stone."

"Eternal life," Severus spits out venomously. "Can you imagine the Dark Lord rising again, but this time he has the elixir of life to ensure that he can never die? If Quirrell gets his hand on that stone we are, to put it bluntly, doomed. His old supporters will come back worse than before, they will seek vengeance for what the Ministry has done to them and they will not be shy about taking it. Those who weren't swayed then might well be now with promises of influence and power. We won last time by fluke. We only won because the most feared wizard of all time went after a one year old child and failed; he will not make the same mistake again. He will not fail."

There is no doubting the real fear in those dark eyes.

"And the only thing stopping him from taking the item that will bring him back is an obstacle course which any half decent wizard could bypass, let alone the one of the strongest wizards of all time." I finish the thought for him, probably a lot more politely than Severus would have managed.

"Albus is a confounded fool," he erupts, proving my instincts were quite correct. "We are harbouring the two things the Dark Lord wants more than anything else in the entire world; the one thing that will bring him back and the boy who destroyed him are sitting ducks. We risk losing a lot more than just the Philosopher's Stone, Minerva. Albus has effectively turned this castle into a honey trap for the Dark Lord, but the trap has no spikes!"

"So we will need to build the spikes, won't we Severus?" I speak calmly despite the way my heart is fluttering anxiously against my chest, reminding me once again that I am too old for this. I lived through the First War, I never anticipated having to fight a second one. "In fact that was one of the reasons I came down to speak to you. I had not realised the danger was so immediate but I had anticipated the issue of the Stone and was planning on attempting to set up better defences around it. It also concerns me that we have a three-headed dog kept behind a door which could be opened by a first year…let alone the Weasley twins."

"With the danger we're currently in that thing needs to be destroyed!" He snaps, and I assume he is referring to the Stone rather than the dog, or for that matter the twins, although neither would surprise me overly. "There was a near darn successful attempt to steal it from Gringotts supposedly the safest place in the Wizarding world, and now we have the Dark Lord masquerading as a teacher in order to take it from right under the old fool's nose."

"We cannot destroy it Severus," I point out gently. "It does not belong to us and we would effectively be killing Nicolas Flamel."

"The man's had over six hundred years of life thanks to that thing already!"

"I am more than aware of that, Severus," I put more of a bite into my words. "That does not mean we have the power to determine it is his time to die. That is not our right."

He looks down and I can see the conflict in his face. He knows I'm right, but desperately wants to dispose of the threat.

"Severus," I wait for him to look back up at me. "Severus, we have to find a way to protect it. We have to and we will. That's why I have Filius and Pomona coming down here."

I wait for a long moment in case he is going to respond, but he doesn't. I might as well get the second issue out the way before the others get here.

"On a more mundane note, Severus, I also came to inform you that you have a detention with Draco Malfoy at a time of your choice." He looks at me sharply. "Before you say anything, the detention was well earned. You know I at least do not show favouritism. But I also believe it is worth informing you in advance that I have granted Mister Potter a place as Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch team."

I wait for the explosion and Severus does not disappoint me.

"WHAT!?" If we hadn't been down here, I'd have put bets on that shout carrying across several corridors. "You have done what!?"

"Harry Potter is the new Gryffindor Seeker, effective immediately." I respond calmly. "Oliver Wood has been informed and I am looking into purchasing a Nimbus 2000 using the Potter vaults. As there is no current guardian for Mister Potter, he is a ward of the school and this ought to give us access to the vaults providing we have Amelia Bones seal as well."

"Have you taken a leave of your senses, Minerva?" He actually hisses at me. "What are you playing at!?"

"The incident with Mister Malfoy culminated with Mister Potter successfully making a fifty foot dive to catch a Remembrall which had been stolen from its owner," I won't mention that the owner of this Remembrall is Longbottom, some things really would just be too much for the poor man to bear. "He proved himself worthy of bending the first year rule for, so providing it does not interfere with his studies he has a permanent place on the team."

"You've already told him, haven't you," Severus snarls at me. "Nothing I say is going to have any effect on this decision."

"If you, Filius and Pomona reach the collective decision that I have over-stepped my bounds and this should be withdrawn, then I would of course have no option but to inform Mister Potter that the rules cannot be changed and I sincerely regret having raised his hopes in such a manner."

"Yes, but there is no way that I'll ever get Filius and Pomona to agree with that!"

That is at least partly what I'm counting on I have to admit. Both of them already have a pronounced soft spot for the young Mister Potter.

"Agree with what, Severus?"

I almost laughed at the look of shock on Severus' face. He had clearly forgotten the other Heads of House were due imminently.

"She has given Mister Potter the Seeker position on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, despite him clearly still being a first year."

"Oh," Filius looks thoughtful for a moment before continuing. "Is he as good as James was?"

I could have kissed the man.

"Better," I say proudly. "Filius, he's better."


	12. The Ravenclaw Mind

**Chapter 12: The Ravenclaw Mind**

"All of us in attendance are aware that we have the Philosophers Stone in the castle?" I ask quietly, already knowing the answer.

The nods that come from all three members of staff are therefore no surprise. I've moved the conversation away from Potter's placement in the Gryffindor Quidditch team partly at least to stop Severus from exploding. I fear if he has to hear any more of Pomona's ramblings about how good this will be for the poor child we won't be getting down to business without a trip to Poppy first. Filius was more subtle about it, but it's clear that he approves as well and his references to James weren't improving Severus' temper one iota.

"We have a problem," I state bluntly. There's little point in beating around the bush. "We have evidence to believe that we are also harbouring a Dark wizard in the castle who intends to make use of the Philosopher's Stone in order to try to bring He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named back."

It's clear that I've succeeded in gaining both of their attention now. Pomona gasped, her hand covering her mouth, Filius looks at me closely so I let him interject before I continue.

"The Hogwarts staff has been largely unchanged for the last number of years," he speaks slowly, clearly analysing the situation as he goes. This is one of the main problems with having a full meeting of the Heads of House; if there were any details that you would prefer to keep quiet at some point Filius or Severus will figure them out…or weasel them out of you. "I would be hard pressed to distrust any of the main members of faculty, even with the appalling way Albus handled the Potter situation."

He looks at me as if judging how close he is to the solution by clues in my expression; he probably is, and there'd be no point trying to deduce that from Severus considering he always appears as if he's sucking lemons regardless of what he's feeling. On the other hand, I'm nervous and it will be written clear on my face for Filius to read.

"With that in mind," he continues calmly. "And considering the only staff change has consistently been the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, I would assume you are referring to Quirinus?"

"Does that Ravenclaw brain of yours ever stop whirring?" Severus asked snippily.

"Oh, that poor boy," Pomona says. "He's never been the same since he went to study in Albania. Nothing dark about that one, Minerva; the poor thing is frightened of his own shadow."

I look steadily at Filius waiting for his judgement. Whether he believes the two of us have gone crazy or not and more importantly, whether he is willing to help regardless.

"I have no wish to suspect or distrust Quirinus," Filius admits after a long moment, "but I suspect that I am not in full knowledge of all the facts which hampers my ability to make a judgement. Would you care to enlighten me?"

"Surely you cannot think…" Pomona exclaims, clearly horrified at the thought of a traitor in our midst. "But he's one of yours…"

"Deatheaters have been known to come from all of the houses and supporters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named even more so," Filius points out reasonably. "I would hate for such a bright student of mine to have succumbed to such temptation, but it has happened before and I am sure it will happen again, regardless of our efforts to prevent it. I will not make a hasty decision based on what I recall from the man's childhood or from incomplete information."

I silently sigh in relief; Pomona would automatically see the good in anyone, that's simply the kind of person she is and it's why she is so well liked amongst the staff and students. She won't say a bad word about anyone so she was always going to instantly reject any accusation against Quirrell, but she'll act for the good of the school rather than out of pride or an inability to believe she is incorrect. Severus may accuse the Hufflepuff's of having even fewer brain cells than the usual student population, but I often believe that they simply engage themselves with what they consider to be most important; and that often isn't textbooks or competitions. I am coming to see that as a sign of their greatest wisdoms.

Filius on the other hand could have proven to be a real obstacle; I had hoped he would react exactly as he has but there was the potential for disaster if his loyalty to one of his own old students proved stronger than his natural instinct to analyse any issue carefully and look at all the angles. Accepting that one of your own has gone down roads best left untraveled is never easy for any of us; having had to do exactly that about several of my young lions in the past I know exactly how difficult it is. And despite where we are now, Quirinus truly did show promise as a student and Filius spent many hours with him trying to improve his confidence and reduce his anxiety whilst he was under his wing. This was never going to be an easy conversation. It's made even more difficult when the 'proof' that we have consists of a tattoo reacting and the mere fact that the man was in Albania.

"This is going to be very difficult to explain without the first explaining the full background," I concede. "So I will give that as succinctly as possible. The first thing to make clear is that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was not destroyed entirely that fateful day ten years ago and instead has been living a half existence as some form of shade, having most recently been in Albania."

That's the most shocking section of what I need to say so I wait to let it sink in. I am destroying ten years of safety and security in less than a minutes worth of speech. Or I am if they believe me. Pomona has gone whiter than I've ever seen her but at the moment it's Filius I am interested in, it's Filius who has the ability to make this a completely worthless effort.

"That is a very large claim to make, Minerva," he says eventually. His voice is odd, as if he is desperately attempting to sound calm against his will. I notice Severus has a couple of bottles of Calming Draft on the side next to the three rats; possibly a very wise precaution. "One that could cause mass panic if released to the general public unwisely. I assume you have something to back this claim up with, Minerva?"

Severus takes over without me even having to glance at him; this is part of the story I cannot tell for him because to put it bluntly, I do not know. In reality I should have asked Severus what his source for this information was but at the time I was so furious with Albus that it didn't cross my mind to ask and somehow I have just trusted that Severus knew what he was talking about. This is after all his forte rather than mine.

"I have sources not just in England but throughout Europe," he continues smoothly, but the tension that was so noticeable earlier is still very much evident in his frame which Pomona certainly seems to note. "I am unable to give their names due to their associations with the Dark Lord, but they are very specialist and trustworthy sources. I have known for some time, in fact since not long after the Dark Lord's decline that he had not truly gone, and he was expected to return at some point in time. This is common knowledge amongst the Death Eaters and one of the main reasons, aside from self-interest, why everyone was so keen to avoid Azkaban; we knew the Dark Lord would be back and he would expect us to be in a position to serve him again."

"Common knowledge or wishful thinking?" Filius asks gravely. Had that comment come from Severus it would be sarcasm at best, but Filius is asking honestly for an answer.

"Common knowledge," Severus accepts the question as what it is. "Part of it may have been wishful thinking to begin with I will admit, but my sources are reputable and not necessarily Death Eaters, just…sympathetic to the cause. From all accounts, the Dark Lord lives; he is a shade of himself and has no corporeal form and he has been waiting all this time for a chance to regain his powers and return to his previous glory. Even in that state though, he's powerful and he's persuasive."

"This is all still circumstantial though, Severus," Filius interjects.

"Yes. But what comes next isn't." Knowing how reluctant Severus is to discuss the Dark Mark, I take control of the discussion again. "The Dark Mark is bound to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named by its magical signature and it recognises Quirinus as its Master. It responds to him as such."

I can tell Filius is stuck between his urge to ask how this is possible and the more pressing issue at hand. But by the look on his face I've got him, he's moved beyond seeing this as a theoretical challenge and has started to believe that we may have a serious problem on our hands.

"The problem is that the Philosopher's Stone could potentially bring He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named back and that would launch us back into a second wizarding war which, in honesty, we have no hope of winning." I can see my points striking home to both of the other Heads as what little colour was left in Pomona's face drains out. "Even if it turns out that Severus and myself are being overly paranoid and Quirinus is actually just a very nervous teacher and no threat to anyone, we simply can't take that chance. We were saved on October 31st 1981 by a small child who had no idea what he had just done; that will not happen again."

"So we go to Albus," Filius concludes firmly.

"Who will do precisely nothing," Severus snarls. Pomona looks at him in shock, whether at his statement or his blatant disrespect is unclear. "If we go to Albus he will reassure us with false platitudes and promises then continue to do absolutely nothing."

"But he has to do…" Pomona stutters and falters.

"Albus will do what he wants to do regardless of the obvious danger to all our students, let alone the rest of the world," he snaps fiercely, "and for some reason beyond my comprehension he has decided that having the Philosopher's Stone guarded by an obstacle course of petty annoyances is in 'the greater good'. We have Potter and eternal life on display like a carrot on a stick."

Pomona sits down shakily and I realise that regardless of what happened in Albus' office not all that long ago, she at least still trusts him. We are not only telling her that the world may be in grave danger from a psychotic, megalomaniac tyrant about to come back from the dead but also that the entire fabric of her world is changing. That Albus cannot be trusted, or at least he can be trusted only to do what he thinks is for the best without informing anyone of his reasoning. He considers himself infallible and the rest of us mere tools. The problem is we have suddenly realised that he isn't infallible and his errors could throw us into a dangerous world of chaos and devastation once more.

"So what do you propose, Minerva? In the absence of one of the greatest wizards of all times input and help, what are we going to be able to do about it?"

My oh my, how reliant we are on Albus. How complacent we have been because we always believed there was someone who knew what to do, someone with the power to do what must be done. But I can recognise Filius' concern in my own heart even if I dare not voice it aloud, what are we without Albus? What are we without the leader we gave our hearts and souls to so many years ago.

"Exactly what we should have done in the first place," I say sternly. "In this room alone there is more magical power than in the entire ministry."

I catch the slight smirk from Severus, but it's true. A quarter of the ministry are incompetent or corrupt, a quarter is just weak and the half which actually want to make a difference are bound by Fudge who is the closest I have ever seen to a malfunctioning gibbon if there ever was one.

"We take charge without the prior knowledge of Albus, and we put that Stone under such protection that even the goblins couldn't rival it," I smile wryly. "The first thing to do is dispense with the secrecy among the staff. The one person we need not to know about the Stone already does, and there's no point in locking the gates after the hippogriff has bolted."

"But Albus…"

"Pomona, if this month has taught us anything it is that Albus is not infallible, he makes mistakes and one of his biggest is his belief in secrecy." My words are harsh, but my tone is gentle; I know what Pomona is going through. "I do not condone shouting the knowledge from the rooftops, but we can include other disciplines in this to make our work effective rather than a mere obstacle course to be challenged. We already have Potions, Transfiguration, Charms and Herbology covered between us but need to increase the potency of our protections. We can assume that the troll is going to be little trouble for Quirinus to get past so need to organise something else. Then I would suggest involving a Runes Master and whoever else you think might be handy. And although it won't stop He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, for the safety of the students I want the door to the room sealed with the anti-alohomora charm; three-headed dogs should not be able to be accessed by any first year with more daring than brains."

Ignoring Severus' smirk I turn to Filius.

"I want every protective charm around that stone you know and then keep looking for more." He nods grimly and I wonder how I managed to acquire the role of leader. "Pomona, a devil's snare is too easy combatted and Quirinus knows it's there anyway. I need you to come up with something spectacular and you can also help by providing Severus with any ingredients he needs. Severus, whatever you can think of although I'd advise staying away from the Dark Arts as if they're seen by the ministry they could raise some awkward questions."

Filius nods again briskly; I have no idea what kinds of charms and spells he will incorporate around the Stone but I trust him to do it. For some reason I'm reminded of a conversation we had many years ago when I'd asked him what made Charms so appealing to him; surely Arithmancy or Transfiguration would be more in keeping with the Ravenclaw mind. He'd responded by saying that it is only the Gryffindor's who ask that kind of question and that Charms was in fact the perfect subject for a Ravenclaw because each Charm had its own story to tell and to be unravelled. I'm still not certain exactly what he meant by that but I do know he is the best man for the job and I can trust him. Pomona I'm more concerned about; she's still sat with her head in her hands shaking. I look pointedly to Severus who takes over one of the Calming Drafts glaring death at the rats as he passes them. Once the shock factor has worn off I'm sure she'll come out with her head held high.

"I do believe that's everything," I say briskly. "I'll start asking round to find the other Masters we need. Pomona, will you be all right getting back to your rooms?"

"Thank you Minerva," the other witch replies faintly lifting her head slightly. "I'll be fine."

"I'll take that as a no then," I say firmly. She's still the colour of curdled milk even if the shaking has stopped. "I'll take you to Poppy for a check-up and a Pepper Up Potion." She opens her mouth to complain. "Don't even think about it, Pomona. I've made my decision."

"I'll join you," Filius says rather unexpectedly.

I look at him sharply with no small measure of concern; what reason does Filius have for a trip to Poppy?

"Oh, don't worry," he smiles gently. "It's not Poppy I'm after. I was actually hoping you could spare an extra couple of minutes. I have something I'd appreciate being able to get a second opinion on."

"Oh, certainly," I must admit I'm relieved. "Many thanks for the use of your quarters again, Severus."

"No worries, Minerva," something in his voice makes me look back. He's wearing his cat that got the cream expression suddenly and it makes me very wary. "Please inform Mister Potter that he has a detention with me tomorrow evening, six thirty on the dot and if he's late it will become two detentions."

I don't refrain from rolling my eyes, but there's not much point arguing, And in fairness, Potter was on a broom without supervision.

"You'll have Mister Weasley down here as well then tomorrow evening," I respond simply and revel in the look of irritation that builds on the younger man's face. "After all, they were both in the air without supervision so both should be punished accordingly."

With that I leave the man to stew and fume. That was more of a revenge strike at me than anything for punishing Malfoy yet rewarding my Gryffindors, but he has a fair point. He just has to deal with both of them now rather than just the one. I smile as we walk towards the Hospital Wing, riling Severus can be so easy on occasions.

With Pomona left in Poppy's capable hands I turn back to Filius questioningly.

"Well, what did you wish to discuss, Filius?"

Entering an empty classroom and weaving a Silencing Charm around it he turns back to me, excitement and concern battling for supremacy in those clear hazel eyes. All the fear that was present in the last meeting has gone; instead I get the impression that he's one step away from bouncing on the balls of his feet like a child. It might surprise some people, but I have actually seen him do that on occasion.

"What do you know about wand lore, Minerva?"


	13. Of Wands and Wizards

**Chapter 13: Of Wands and Wizards**

"I must admit, Filius, my knowledge of the intricacies and subtleties of wand lore only just exceeds my understanding of the Dark Arts." I recognise that glint in Filius' eyes; it doesn't approach the twinkle only Albus seems to have but whatever this is about its grabbed his attention fully. "Luckily, I have never required more than a basic understanding to be able to use a wand."

"You have heard of the saying that 'the wand choses the wizard' though?"

"Of course," I remark lightly, smiling at him to continue. It's clear the man is desperately restraining himself from getting to the heart of what he's found, but is holding back for my benefit. "That's elementary wand lore."

It also reminds me that I still need to inspect Longbottom's wand before lessons start moving too far beyond his capabilities. A wand can be used by any fool but no wand will ever perform to its highest abilities unless it is matched with the right person. Unfortunately, despite what his grandmother may wish, the boy is much more alike Alice in temperament and abilities; he has her shy compassion and affinity for living things rather than his father's confidence and strong will.

"Are you aware that a wand can change its allegiance though?" Filius' voice has risen almost an octave into something resembling a high pitched squeak; we are clearly near the crux of the matter.

I can see why this has intrigued the man so much though, the majority of us will go through our entire life with a single wand and we hold them close to our hearts. I can still remember the day in Ollivander's all those years ago when I received my own wand, my pride at the man's declaration that he rarely sold the fir and dragon heartstring combination, down to his exact words as he looked at me as if he could see right through into my soul; "A sign of great things to come, Miss McGonagall. Strength, staying power and a determination to succeed. Great things indeed." That wand is part of my very being and the thought of losing it, of it 'choosing' someone else over me causes tendrils of cold terror to sneak through my heart. To lose it would be to lose part of my very soul.

"What reason would a wand have to do that, Filius?" My attempts to keep the anxiety and strain from my voice obviously failed as Filius' expression changes slightly and he rushes his next sentence in a clear bid to set my mind at rest.

"Don't worry, Minerva, it's a rare phenomenon and doesn't occur without a cause." That's probably as close to soothing as he is likely to get in his current state of excitement. "The obvious example is the legacy of family wands in some traditional pureblood families; after a wizard's death their wand is capable of choosing a successor. Of course many wizards chose to be buried with their wands for this very reason; they cannot bear the thought of anyone else wielding their wand even after they have died."

I nod slowly as those cold tendrils begin to recede a little. The McGonagall family have traditionally been buried with their wands for that very reason; the thought of someone else claiming my wand as their own is repellent. The thought of it recognising them, accepting them is horrifying.

"But in special circumstances a wand can change allegiance even whilst its original owner is still very much in the world of the living." The small man looks at me expectantly as he waves his wand around in some demonstration that I don't understand. No, I understand. It's not a demonstration, it's pure excitement; he has actually started to bounce on the balls of his feet although stops as I raise my eyebrows at him. "Can you imagine what might be, Minerva?"

I smile slightly as I shake my head; it's clear he's relishing this.

"You see my dear, occasionally when another wizard is disarmed or overpowered their wand turns away from them…"

"But then we'd all be wandless!" I can't help the interruption that bursts from me harshly, but Filius has started to bounce again, his dark eyes flashing brilliantly.

"Intent, Minerva! Intent!"

Energy and enthusiasm are reverberating off the man in shockwaves that even a muggle could have sensed.

"It all comes down to intent. In a mock duel, sparring contest or even when the only intention is to alleviate a direct threat then the concept is null and void because the intent is wrong. For a wand to transfer allegiance requires a series of things but intent is the most important of all. It requires a deliberate attempt to control, to force or even to subjugate and rule. Even then though the wand still needs to choose you. For example, a wand that has been with the same wizard since childhood is far less likely to change its allegiance without exceptional reason. It's not unheard of and certainly not impossible but is far less likely unless the wizard's nature has changed significantly over the years." My grip on my wand grows slightly looser without conscious thought on my behalf. "But a wand that has already changed ownership once or more? Now that is a very different matter."

"Why are you telling me this, Filius?" I'm caught between bewilderment and exasperation. I'd admit that this is interesting, but when you put the potential return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named against the theory that wands can change ownership between wizards there's no contest.

"Think, Minerva." This is the second time this month I've been treated like an underperforming student by a colleague and I have to admit it is beginning to become tiresome. "Who did I disarm?"

My brow wrinkles in puzzlement; the man is a master duellist. Over the years he's disarmed countless students and fully grown wizards, both in practice and during the last war. I'm no slouch in duelling proficiency myself, but I'm not a patch on Filius if I'm brutally honest… Filius even disarmed…and that thought stops me dead.

"Albus…" I gasp in stunned recognition. If he's telling me what I think he is then the repercussions are almost limitless. "You disarmed Albus!" I glance at him almost hoping that I'm wrong, but there's a smug expression on his face which I've never seen before and that tells me everything I need to know. I'm not wrong. Somehow, Filius has the allegiance of Albus' wand. "Does he know?"

"I would be highly surprised if he doesn't," Filius responded with that strange smug expression still on his face. "This is Albus we are referring to, and he took it from Grindelwald originally so must be able to recognise the signs when a wand has changed allegiance. I cannot imagine that he hasn't put together the signs. I did with far less."

That's a good point. How did he know? He can't have just taken Albus' wand or it would be in his hands now, so how is he so sure?

"It took some deduction, I'll admit." Filius wears his pride openly. "I noticed a change in my own wands abilities, almost as if it was trying to prove itself in some way. I have experienced nothing like it before so I started to research the topic. It took several days of careful reading to come up with the likeliest explanation; when two wands vie for a wizards allegiance the original wand in particular can behave differently in what appears to be a bid to keep the wizards allegiance. This is more noticeable the more powerful the new wand is."

"Are you trying to tell me that wands get jealous!?" I can't keep the incredulity from my voice.

"Not exactly, Minerva," he chuckles. "But it would appear that they recognise when another wand has bonded to their wizard, particularly if it is a more powerful wand."

"So what are you going to do about it, Filius?"

"Well, I can hardly storm Albus' office and demand he hand over the wand now, can I?" His eyes glitter as he continues although his voice doesn't change. "However much entertainment that would cause."

The image of our dwarf Professor ransacking Albus' office in search of the wand comes to mind and I can't help but smile. It would indeed be fairly entertaining. It would also cause chaos and one tsunami of a storm in the Daily Prophet _: Defeater of Grindelwald Overcome by Midget?_ or _The Great Dumbledore Losing His Touch?_ If Skeeter got involved as she usually manages they'd have a field day.

"That is true," I admit wryly. "I suppose it is a simple case of watching and waiting then, although I also cannot imagine Albus handing over his wand of his own accord."

"I need to do more research," Filius comments fairly typically. "But there may be provisions under wizarding law that could be called into play if required. It may be possible for me to legally request the wand as the rightful owner. It would cause a scene, but is a measure worth thinking about if Albus decides to be difficult regarding Mister Potter and his new accommodation. Potentially the mere threat alone may be enough to give us the opportunity to act, without calling further attention to Mister Potter."

That's an interesting idea indeed. Albus has not yet said anything more regarding the removal of the Potter boy from his guardians, but all of us are more than aware for his potential to be problematic. Even with Amelia backing us up so that he no longer has any official power over the care or guardianship of the boy, the man is too powerful and too popular to be ignored as a potential threat. Even if he can't stop Potter being removed from the Dursley's, there is no doubt that the man can exert extreme pressure regarding where he is placed and the public would follow him. Because he is Albus.

"That sounds worth looking into," I agree mildly. "If that's all though Filius, I ought to inform the young Potter and Weasley of their detention with Severus tomorrow."

"You have all the fun, Minerva," Filius comments in amusement.

"Well, someone has to do it and Severus would be most unimpressed if they failed to show because I hadn't warned them," I smile. "Just the missed opportunity for another set of detentions would give him a coronary."

With that I left him to whatever research the man decides necessary, although I shall certainly be keeping a keen eye on Albus for the foreseeable future. Filius is correct; it is highly improbable that Albus is not fully aware of the fact that his wand has changed allegiance. I can't see him being altogether pleased by this knowledge either. But much like us, I doubt he will do anything openly. If he did then he'd have to openly admit that he'd been disarmed by one of his own colleagues and heaven knows what stories would then fly; almost certainly the complete negligence regarding Potter would reach the papers considering that was what was being discussed. Which way public opinion would immediately tide I am unsure; it would definitely create a crack in his omnipotent façade though. It's a pity I don't want the boy dragged through the mill any more than he has already, otherwise I'd be willing to sell the story myself.

It being around about the time for dinner, I'm heading towards the Great Hall. Walking in through the main entrance I can see most of the staff and students are already in attendance, so if anything I'm late. As I head up to the High Table I can't help but glance at Albus, he's glaring at his plate as if it has personally offended him and completely oblivious to the staff around him. I would suspect he is more than aware that his wand no longer answers to him. Glancing over at the Gryffindor table I note the Malfoy boy and his two giant friends are standing by the table scowling and cracking their knuckles; it doesn't take a genius to figure out who they're talking with. I change my direction so that I'm winding by the Gryffindor table.

"I'd take you on any time on my own." As I'd thought the young Malfoy is clearly looking for trouble after having been embarrassed on the Quidditch field earlier. Some people are far too predictable for their own good. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only – no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

"I don't suppose that would matter, Mister Malfoy," I interject coldly. "Considering you are going to be spending the next week of evenings in detention."

His pale face blushes brightly.

"I was just joking, Professor," he manages in a close approximation of the smooth drawl his father is so practiced at, but the blush rising up his cheeks is more undignified than his father would allow. Perhaps there is hope for the kid after all. "Nothing was meant by it."

"I would surely hope that was the case, as I doubt your father would be overly pleased to find you expelled so early into your first term at Hogwarts." I raise my eyebrows at the boy sternly. "Although, it would be worth noting that risking your Hogwarts education when you have no knowledge of offensive spells would be fool-hardy in the extreme. I will organise the time of your detention once you have completed your outstanding detention with Professor Snape."

The boy stands there gaping at me in an even more undignified manner. He must know as well as I do that it would take much more than night time wandering to get expelled from Hogwarts, but the fact that I have dared threaten it so openly seems to have thrown him more than anticipated. Apparently he thinks being Lucius' son puts him above such sanctions and punishments. Well, that will have to change as well.

"My father wouldn't…" he blusters ineffectually.

"Your father wouldn't have a choice," I remark snidely. "Discipline at Hogwarts is at the Headmasters discretion, not your fathers, regardless of the Board of Governors seat he holds. You are dismissed. I would suggest you find your way back to the Slytherin table."

I watch as the three boys slouch back to their table, quite clearly fuming at the injustice that they see as having been done to them. Or Malfoy at least is fuming; I doubt the other two have figured out what was said yet.

"As for you two," I turn back to my two Gryffindor's, both watching me with an unsettling edge of awe in their expressions. "You both have a detention with Professor Snape tomorrow evening for being on brooms without permission, half past six on the dot. Make sure you are punctual as tardiness will be punished further." I watch as both boys wriggle down in their seat, attempting to avoid my glare. Softening my tone as I look at the Potter boy I ask, "And how is Mister Longbottom doing, may I ask?"

"Neville will be out the hospital wing tomorrow," he responds quietly in reaction to my gaze and then looks at Weasley beseechingly who promptly takes up the tale.

"Madam Pomfrey said there's nothing to worry about and that she can mend bones in a jiffy," he supplies cheerfully. "We said we'd go down to bring him to the Great Hall for breakfast tomorrow."

"That's good," I remark smoothly. "When you see Mister Longbottom tomorrow morning could you please let him know that I'd like to see him tomorrow lunchtime?" The concern on both boys' expressions is easy to identify. "Don't worry; he's not in any trouble. I'd just like to have a word with him."

As I stride up to the High Table I can hear the mutterings behind me as the boys try to figure out what I want with Neville, followed by the Granger's interruption that it's none of their business. I roll my eyes slightly. Some things never change.

Passing Severus I stop for just long enough to inform him that the boys know about their detention tomorrow…and of Mister Malfoy's more recent acquisitions.

"At the rate he's going, Severus, it wouldn't surprise me if the boy gets more detentions than the Weasley twins."

That's interesting. I've never seen Severus choke on his food before.


	14. The Second Waif

**Chapter 14: The Second Waif**

Not having any classes to teach this morning, I settled myself into the mundane but routine task of marking. Setting myself the task of the first year essays, I sigh heavily; Severus is certainly correct in the fact that there are few things in the world more tiresome than first year marking. Much like Potions, Transfiguration is not a subject easy to instruct children in before they enter Hogwarts so even the pure bloods come out with the same blunders year after year after year. When you merge that with the fact that half the muggle-borns haven't yet got the hang of using quills, leading to chicken scratch across the page, the job becomes actively painful.

I deliberately put Granger's piece to the bottom of the pile; as usual she has managed to write a full two foot more than I actually asked them for but at least it will be an intelligible piece of work. Crabbe and Goyle's work however is brought to the front of the pile just to get it out of the way; I have to admit I would be quite surprised if there's more than a single brain cell knocking around between the pair of them. Even in class they respond in grunts rather than answers, although I have to say it's a pity that Mister Malfoy is not half so reticent.

I'd actually managed to get through the majority of the pile when there was a soft, hesitant knock at the door. Carefully marking where I had got to and shuffling the papers together, I looked up.

"Come in," I called out.

The door opened a crack and the clearly terrified face of one Mister Longbottom peered through the gap.

"You can enter, Mister Longbottom," I repeat with a smile as the terrified youngster edges his way gingerly into my office, staring intently at the floor as he did so.

"Harry and Ron said you wanted to see me, Professor?" the boy asked timidly.

"I did indeed," I confirm gently. "There's no need to worry though, Mister Longbottom. You aren't in any trouble." His eyes keep darting nervously up to mine as he shuffles his feet restlessly on the carpet. Waving my wand leisurely, I summon one of the nearby chairs over for him. "Why don't you take a seat?"

"Yes, professor," he murmured, obediently sitting down in the chair behind him and sits there without taking his eyes off his feet. It's quite astonishing just how interesting feet seem to become in my office.

"How are you getting on in your studies, Longbottom," I ask lightly in an attempt to set his mind at rest. "Professor Sprout tells me that you are a natural in the greenhouses."

"I'm not bad," he responds to his feet. "I understand plants, they make sense to me and they don't argue with you or anything. I think they like me too."

A rare smile graces his face and I reflect that we need to see that sight more often.

"How about your other studies?" I probe cautiously. Family wands are an emotive topic so there's no point jumping straight in and pushing the lad into the defensive, plus it would be useful to know how he feels he's faring.

"I don't do badly in Astronomy and History of Magic, Professor," he responds softly. The two other subjects which don't require a wand, I reflect ruefully. "I'm not as good as the others, but I don't do badly. Charms and Transfiguration I struggle with and…" I'm surprised at the look of terror that flies across his face as he pauses briefly. "…and Potions…I'm well, I'm abysmal. I'm about as much use as a flobberworm," he admits softly, the shame clearly suffusing his face. He falls silent still looking at his feet.

"So it's the subjects that require the use of a wand that you struggle with the most?" I press, ignoring the issue of Potions for the minute. I fear I already know the reason for that and it has absolutely nothing to do with his wand. I may have to see if I can organise some private tutoring for the boy. I have a suspicion that even if Severus started walking around wearing pink fluffy fur and handing out puffskeins the lad would still be terrified of him.

Again the boy looks up at me briefly before dropping his head again, but this time I can see the tears glinting in his hazel eyes. I barely catch his response he speaks so quietly.

"That's because I'm nearly a Squib, Professor."

The captive tears fall silently down his cheeks and he hastily wipes them away, looking anywhere but me as he does so.

"Sorry, Professor."

Again I can barely hear him as he apologises and yet again this year I find my heart wrenching. Lily's son. Alice's son. Both orphaned and both scarred in different ways but both indelibly scarred. If it wasn't for families like the Weasley's I'd be tempted to try and ban magical childhood until the kids reach eleven and start at Hogwarts. We seem to simply leave them to their fate whether pureblood or abandoned…or even Malfoy. That thought is disturbing.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Longbottom," I remark gently. "Nothing at all. You have just as much potential as your mother did, I don't believe for a minute that you are a Squib. You're nowhere near, child."

Even though the boy hasn't looked back up at me, I can feel both his shock and his disbelief just as openly as I can see in the small form in front of me. Tears are running freely down his face, regardless of his desperate attempts to dash them away as his entire body jackhammers. For the second time this year I'm staring helplessly in front of a lost and hurting child. The Freak and The Squib. Why did no-one else see the precious child in both these lives without having to compare them to their parents?

"I mean it, Neville," I say softly. "It's not your fault. You are not a Squib or anything close."

No, the fault is not with Longbottom. The wand is an issue but I don't even believe that is the main problem anymore although I don't dare say that to him. I don't say much of what I'm thinking at the moment in honesty.

"Longbottom?" I ask gently after giving him some time to collect himself. "Would you be willing to show me your wand?"

For the first time this afternoon the child looks me straight in the eye and regardless of the puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks, despite his vulnerability and helplessness, I can see strength there. He is certainly no Squib.

"It's my Dad's," he speaks louder than before. "It's my Dad's."

He falters before giving it to me, uncomfortable doesn't begin to sum up his body language.

"Eleven and three quarter inches, ash and dragon heartstring", he said softly, watching closely as I turned it carefully over in my hands. "I know I don't deserve it, Professor, but it's Dad's and…and even if I am near Squib, it's still Dad's!"

There is a note of defiance in that speech which I hadn't expected, but watching his eyes caress the stick of wood in my hands it doesn't overly surprise me. His father wielded this wand, his Grandmother gave it to him and this is his only real link he has to his father. His father as he was then rather than as he is now, the man this child never got a chance to know.

"Neville, would you care to hold my wand please?" I ask in cool and calculated tones which hide how unsure I am about this gesture behind my usual façade of control.

I am trying to ignore that I have never offered this to a student before. I am trying to ignore the thudding of my heart as I remember Filius' words again, how the wand can choose again. I am trying to ignore my pure fear that my wand might choose this child over me, regardless of the impossibility of that happening. I might as well admit it; fear is once again creeping up to clutch at my very being. The boy looks up at me confused as I hold my wand out to him with a steady hand. All he can see is his stern Head of House. He doesn't see how much this gesture is costing me. He can't.

Eventually though he seems to come to the realisation that I am not bluffing, that this is a real offer and his hand tentatively snakes out before stopping just before mine. He looks up at me and for the first time I can see the young lion residing within him. He doesn't understand why I am offering this but those hazel eyes are offering me the chance to retract, to back down; he knows what trust it takes to let another handle your wand. How could he not, he's pureblood. My little lion is giving me the option to back out gracefully, his offering of respect and understanding, but if I take it then it will be by his mercy, not my control. One of my lions indeed.

My smile feels frozen to my face as I place the rigid wand which has been mine all my life gently in the child's hand, keeping eye contact the entire time. This is on my terms and only mine. My heart near stops as the small fingers curl around my wand and tiny resistant sparks shoot from the end. I only breathe again when I realise that's it, there's nothing else coming from it; my wand still chooses me. It's still mine. Stupidly I feel like a school girl chosen for the Yule Ball all over again. It's mine.

"What did you feel?" I force the words out harshly against the flood rising in my chest.

"The same, Professor," the boys quiet voice sounds almost disappointed. "It was the same."

I hold my hand out and Longbottom understands immediately, dropping my wand into it without complaint. I can't resist the urge to curl my hand around it fiercely. Mine. I look at Longbottom closely before speaking softly.

"My wand isn't meant for you, Neville," my words are blunt but my tone is gentle. His eyes once again meet mine before looking down sharply. He fears what I am about to say next. "Neither is your father's wand, Neville."

This time the breakdown is more expected.

"Neville, you are most definitely your father's son," I speak softly and clearly, watching as my words strike home. "You are your father's son, that is true. You are not your father's image."

I watch the eleven year old in front of me, curled up miserably on the chair and sobbing his heart out. Pomona would hug the child, Filius would somehow make him smile and laugh with some clever combination of tricks and charms before calming him down. I can't do either. Instead I walk across to him and gently lay my hand on his shoulder, kneeling down so that I am at his level.

"You are your mother's son as well though, Neville. She was brave yet had an unbelievable empathy for those around her and those in need. She was impulsive but gentle and caring. She was as smart as any Ravenclaw, as independent as a Slytherin and as loyal as a Hufflepuff." Somehow I get the impression that the child in front of me has been filled with tales of his father, but not so much of his mother. I continue to speak gently as the boy sobs. "Any House would have been enriched by her presence, any House would have been proud to have her. And Neville?" I wait for his tear stained eyes to glance up to mine before continuing. "You are your mother's son as well. You are not a perfect copy of your father. That does not mean you are worth any less."

"Gran will kill me if I get a new wand though," he whispers. "She gave me Dad's wand. It would be a betrayal."

I sigh heavily. Why do the young so often have to pay for the obstinacies of the old?

"I will write to Augusta and explain," I say calmly. "Neville, you cannot try and walk in your father's shoes and you cannot be expected to be the son your grandmother lost. That is not your burden to bear. You should be proud of who you are and who you can become, not ashamed because you are not your father. Frank would have wanted more for you than that."

"First years aren't allowed out of Hogwarts though," I can't tell whether he's still terrified of his grandmother or whether he doesn't want to lose the only bond with his father that is left to him.

"Students aren't usually allowed to go to Diagon Alley in term time at all, Neville," I remind him. "If you wish to go to Ollivander's either myself or one of the other tutors will accompany you on a weekend."

He stays looking down at his feet mutely.

"Neville," I wait for his attention again. "Neville, I am not forcing you to get a new wand and I am certainly not telling you to abandon your father's wand. That was gifted to you and will always be yours, nothing will ever change that. I am offering you an opportunity though. Even if we go to Ollivander's you don't have to pick a wand, you can walk out of the shop empty handed if you prefer. But will you at least give me a chance to help you?"

When he speaks again his voice cracks like rusted iron.

"You'll speak to Gran for me?" he asks fearfully.

"I will speak to Augusta," I confirm. "You need not fear anything on that score."

"She's not going to be happy," the boy frets anxiously.

"I am more than capable of reminding Augusta that her grandson is not a replacement for the son she lost," he looks at me, shock resounding in his eyes. "My shoulders are wider than yours, Mister Longbottom, there is little your grandmother can say to phase me." I smile at him. "So, will you let me help you?"

He nods shakily.

"Yes, Professor. Thank you, Professor."

"No need for thanks, Mister Longbottom, just remember what I've told you today."

"Yes, Professor," he looks at me nervously. "May I be dismissed, Professor?"

"Certainly," I nod towards the door. "I would suggest heading down to the Great Hall as lunch has not yet finished. I am sure Mister Potter and Mister Weasley will be waiting for you and will want a complete account of why I wanted to see you."

"Do I have to tell them, Professor?" he asks.

"You can tell them whatever you wish, Mister Longbottom," I smile wryly. "If you are looking for a handy excuse you might mention that I was considering finding you an out of hours Potions tutor to bring your lamentable grades in that subject up." He looks at me warily. "Only if you're interested of course, Mister Longbottom. It just occurred to me that you might appreciate some extra help."

That smile that I saw earlier on this afternoon has returned and it transforms his face completely.

"Yes, Professor. I'd like that, Professor."

After he left the room I sat silently for a long moment, just thinking. Then I picked up a piece of parchment and wrote the list of things I need to do. Potter's broomstick. Potter's accommodation. Longbottom's wand. Augusta Longbottom. Potions Instructor. Malfoy detention. Philosopher's Stone. Albus' wand? Well, at least the majority of them should be relatively simple. What to do about Albus' wand I don't know.

I'd finished the first year marking, started the seventh year marking and made a decent start on the letter to Augusta when a sharp cracking noise came from the centre of the room. The only beings that can apparate in Hogwarts are house-elves but few would dare disturb a Professor whilst they were working unless directly summoned. I stand hurriedly to investigate to find the house-elf that I'd seen by Severus' quarters in the middle of the room, quite clearly distressed.

"Silvia," I say in surprise.

"Silvia is sorry for disturbing Mistress but Master said to find Mistress and is to bring Mistress to the Hospital Wing. Master said it didn't matter if Mistress was busy."

She is clearly distraught at the thought of having to interrupt me and Severus wouldn't have sent her if it wasn't important. And he couldn't come himself.

"Do you know why Professor Snape wants me to attend him in the Hospital Wing?" I ask the small creature.

"Yes, Mistress," she nods energetically. "It is to do with the young Master Potter. Is Mistress be going?"

I'm already moving towards the door.

"Yes, Silvia. I'm going. Could you let Severus know I'm on my way please?"

"Of course, Mistress. Silvia is a good elf. Master will want to know you are coming."

"Thank you."

What on earth is wrong with the boy now?


	15. Exceptions to the Rules

**Chapter 15: Exceptions to the Rules**

All the way to the Hospital Wing my thoughts are swirling; if this was just a simple fever or rough and tumble, I very much doubt Severus would have called for me to attend. He certainly wouldn't have sent his house elf in to disturb me no matter what I was doing at the time. But Potter has been in detention with Severus since half six, what on earth could have happened to him in detention. Rounding the corner to the Hospital Wing, I stop in astonishment. Standing outside are the two most unlikely companions currently existing in the school and they're not bickering, they're not fighting, they're not even trying to get one over each other. They're just standing, completely silently on opposite sides of the door as if the other doesn't exist. More than passing strange to say the least.

"What are you two boys doing here?" I bark across the corridor.

Both heads whipped round to me at more or less exactly the same time and I can see they are struggling to respond. One of them here would make sense; Weasley here to support or Malfoy being here to taunt, but both of them together and without any apparent vindictiveness between them? Something's not right.

"I'm waiting to see if Harry's ok," Weasley stutters eventually then motions sharply with his head towards Malfoy. "Dunno what he's doing here though."

"Well?" I snap pointedly with a glare at the blonde boy. Considering everything so far this year, it's more than a little suspicious that he's hanging around and if he's planning something I honestly don't have the patience to put up with it. They'll be no taunting or riling today. I'm more than prepared to send him packing to his dormitory if he tries to test the boundaries at the moment.

"I need to speak to my godf - to my Head of House."

His slip up is noticeable despite, or perhaps because of, the sharp cover up and as the blush rises up his cheeks I notice just how pale the young aristocratic face really is. He glances briefly towards the Weasley boy, perhaps hoping the near reference to Severus as his godfather wasn't noted. Luckily for him the other boy is far too fixated on the door to the Hospital Wing to be paying attention to anything else. Malfoy closes his eyes for a fraction of a second and once again I am reminded how young he is and how far from his father he could be.

In fact, looking closely at the young Slytherin in front of me, I can't help but feel a faint fluttering of concern rising within me. Taking my own advice from the beginning of term, I look at the boy as if he were one of mine and I don't like what I see in front of me. I've said to Severus and for that matter Longbottom recently that being your father's son does not make you their clone. Perhaps it's time for me to take my own advice. As Deputy Head it's certainly my duty.

"Mister Weasley," I say and as I turn to the other youngster I realise I could probably count every freckle on his face as well if I were so inclined. Whatever happened has shaken them both to their cores. "Would you please go inside and inform Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape that I have arrived? I do believe they should be expecting me."

He sends a final suspicious glare at Malfoy but daren't say anything in front of me, so heads into the Hospital Wing as instructed. In reality I want a word with the young Malfoy, but he's been raised to be distrustful of anyone but his own and it'll be a task in itself to get him to speak to me as it is, with Weasley here as well it'd be nigh on impossible. He looks up at me with a faint sneer, not as impressive as Severus', but then he hasn't had the years to practice it or the lifetime of cynicism and distrust that Severus has. Somehow we need to prevent that.

But sneer or not, that's not what I'm paying attention to. I'm watching how he's holding himself against the wall in an approximation of Slytherin pose, but more than that how heavily he's leaning on it. I'm looking at his hands; how one is pressed so firmly against the wall as if to steady himself and the other balled tightly by his side. Too much here is wrong; his body language, the way he spoke about Severus, the simple fact that he's standing here at all. But that Godfather slip is perhaps the real key. The child in front of me doesn't want his stern but watchful Head of House, he needs his Godfather. What for?

"What happened?" I ask simply without judgement.

"Why aren't you asking the Wease-Weasley?" I don't miss the insult, but I also can't help but note the faint quaver in his question despite the usual arrogance in his tone.

"Because I'm asking you, Mister Malfoy," I decide to ignore his reference to Weasley. "And that is not how you address a Professor is it?"

"Sorry, Professor," he murmurs with little real feeling, but now isn't the time or the place.

"So," I repeat slightly more forcefully. "What happened?"

"Potter collapsed," he says bluntly and stops short.

"I do believe I could have deduced that without your stunning observational skills, Mister Malfoy," I comment drily. "Would you care to tell me something I don't know?"

He looks at the door to the Hospital Wing as if hoping for rescue before he responds.

"We were cleaning cauldrons without magic," he expands grudgingly. That doesn't surprise me either; Severus firmly believes in elbow grease for detentions, partly at least because it saves him the trouble of the job at the same time as teaching a lesson. Few students will want to scrub cauldrons more than once. Labelling vials is another one of his favourite tasks to give, although he does tend to save that for the older students so he doesn't have to 'try to decipher chicken scratch and do it again anyway'.

"We were all cleaning but Potter seemed to be on Pepper-Up Potion, Professor. He was getting through cauldrons at three times the rate of Weasley and he wouldn't stop." I note he doesn't mention himself although I can't imagine the Malfoy's being keen to get to get their hands dirty. They have house elves for that. "Weasley noticed something was wrong first, I wasn't paying attention to him…" Other than to taunt the boy I think silently. "…but Potter refused to respond. He just kept scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing. His hands were raw and bleeding but he wouldn't stop."

When the boy looked up at me I can easily see the blatant confusion in those clear grey eyes.

"When Weasley tried to pull him away from the cauldron he was doing at the time, Potter got even more frantic," Malfoy's hands had started shaking slightly and he looks down at them as if they are personally betraying him with their weakness. "He started ranting about how he was running out of time and to leave him alone, that he needed to finish. It was like he was terrified of not getting every single cauldron spotless. But, Professor?" He looks up at me again as if judging whether I'd understand. "We were never meant to do all the cauldrons, Professor Snape knew that was impossible. It's just something he says. Everyone understands that."

Everyone except Potter. I'm starting to understand now. He is used to being treated as the equivalent of a slave. That's the only thing he knows. If he didn't get the tasks they set him finished then he'd be beaten, starved and locked in a cupboard until they remembered that they wanted him for something else. No wonder he responded as he did. It didn't matter how impossible a task – he had to complete it or there'd be worse to come. He'd have entered that room to be met with an impossible task and he wouldn't have dared to question or complain about it. He'd have just got the job done, or tried to at least and when he couldn't he'd prefer to collapse trying than to be seen as slacking. Who can blame him?

"It's not as if I like Potter," Malfoy says defensively and I have to stifle a snort. No matter what, he had to get that one in. "But something was wrong and Weasley was just panicking so I couldn't have done nothing. I got Professor Snape from his office…"

I can imagine Severus' reaction to being dragged out of whatever he was doing by a twelve year old. Chances are it wouldn't have been particularly pleasant.

"The Professor told Potter to stop being foolish but it didn't do any good, he still wouldn't stop. He just kept scrubbing at the cauldron even after Professor Snape yelled at him. It was only when the Professor…"

He tails off just as the Weasley boy re-emerges from the Hospital Wing with Severus close on his heels. Severus seems to take in the state of his young Slytherin without even looking closely and points towards the entrance.

"Mister Malfoy, Hospital Wing now. You are to be checked out by Madam Pomfrey." As the boy started to protest he turned slowly around and his robes swept out ominously. "I do not believe I asked for opinions, I believe I gave an order. Are you questioning that?"

"No, Professor." If anyone ever says that a Malfoy cannot do anything as undignified as squeaking, I can now definitively prove them wrong. But as he walks through the doors he looks back at us briefly and I just about catch the words he almost whispers.

"He was behaving like a house elf."

As I was pondering those words and why they seemed to have such relevance for Malfoy, the sharp voice behind me disturbed my reflections.

"Minerva, I would appreciate a word." With that he stalks back into the Hospital Wing and I'm given little choice but to follow, leaving a rather bemused red-head gaping at the door as he's left behind. As I approach Severus he weaves a Silencing Charm around us and sits heavily on one of the beds.

"I misjudged the situation, Minerva," the younger man eventually says looking down at the bed and refusing to meet my eyes. "I sincerely apologise for my error. It never occurred to me that the boy would take me at my word and near kill himself in order to try and fulfil it."

The apology is stiff and strained, but the fact that he has apologised at all is close to a miracle and is one more sign of how much my Gryffindor shook everyone tonight. Severus doesn't apologise. If he makes an error he will admit it and he will fix it, but other than the courtesy's of apologising for a minor bump in the corridor, I do not believe I have ever heard the words from his lips. I have certainly never had them directed at me. I accept his apology with a brief nod refraining from the urge to put a hand on his shoulder to convince him. Having not looked up at me I doubt he saw my nod, but he doesn't do contact either.

"What happened, Severus?" Much like when I had questioned the Malfoy boy, I keep my tone mild, non-threatening and without judgement and finally the man glances up at me. If I'm not imagining things I would swear I can see shame in those dark, hooded eyes.

"At the start of detention I told the three boys the same thing I tell every set of first years. I told them that I expected every cauldron in the room spotless and they would not enjoy the consequences if this was not managed. It usually makes them work harder but they always recognise that there are too many cauldrons there. I had expected the same this time; I never expected them to take it completely seriously. But Potter…didn't behave in the same way."

He looks up meeting my gaze fully for the first time and he waits as if expecting a rebuke, but I stay silent. I don't doubt he didn't mean any harm; Severus is stern and strict and can even seem unfair but he is never cruel, and he would never intentionally put a child at risk.

"Minerva, they were in there for just under three hours and the boy must have a managed a cauldron every ten minutes." Despite the obvious concern there is also an underlying edge of admiration hidden behind the words. "I have never seen anything like it. It's no wonder the other two were terrified; and regardless of whatever else Draco says, he would not have slammed on my door like that for any other reason."

I bite back a smile. I don't think anyone would bang on Severus' door for any reason short of being murdered.

"Potter was white as a ghost and near collapsed over the cauldron yet still scrubbing the damn thing as if his life depended on it, Minerva. His hands were leaving bloody marks on it but he just scrubbed those off as well." Severus hesitates before continuing. "I didn't know what to do, Minerva. He wouldn't respond to anything I said, he just kept going. He wouldn't stop."

The vulnerability in our Potions Masters tone near takes my breath away. He's seen darker sides of life than I could ever even imagine and even he didn't know what to do. Even he didn't know how to help.

"You got him here, didn't you?" I point out gently. "You didn't just leave him."

"The only reason I got Potter here was because I tried to pull him away from the cauldron, Minerva," the guilt and shame in his voice is even more obvious than previously. Looking up at me again, the insecurity in his eyes is there for anyone to see. "He went hysterical. He was screaming, sobbing, pleading with me. He was desperate to get back to the cleaning, he begged me to let him finish, that he wouldn't let me down. He begged me, Minerva."

"Severus," I interrupt firmly. "You know you couldn't have done that. You know you did the right thing. The only thing."

"But did I do it in the right way?" He's looking across the Hospital Wing to the bed where Poppy has put Potter in as he speaks. "I wouldn't let go, I started to bring him across the room and then he went completely dead in my arms. For a moment I thought…" Severus tails off, then shakes his head briskly before continuing. "…that doesn't matter. I had to carry the boy down here, he wouldn't respond to anything."

There's a long moment of silence as both of us just sit there, not looking at each other. Severus' interruption therefore caught me completely unawares.

"I'm sorry, Minerva. I should have been more vigilant."

With that he strode out of the Hospital Wing robes billowing behind him. I can't help thinking that I seriously need to research whether that's a spell or not as I watch him leave, regardless of how inappropriate it is right now. Rising stiffly from the bed I approach Poppy.

"How is he?"

Our resident medi-witch turns to me and scowls.

"He'd be much better if people would listen to my advice when I give it," she says snippily. Ah, yes. Poppy had warned me that we'd need to go easy on the young Potter or he'd end up back in her care. I can see why she is slightly peeved.

"It's nobody's fault, Poppy," I say soothingly as I expertly ignore the furious glare she's sending my way. Won't be the first or the last time I receive one of those. "None of us would have been able to predict Potter's reaction to the detention and it never occurred to Severus that he needed to directly supervise their activities."

She does not look overly mollified by my statement I have to admit. We might need to give her a couple of days to simmer before expecting any favours. It is probably wiser for me to leave now before the irate witch decides to hex me, despite the exceptionally interested grey eyes staring at us from across the room.

"Professor McGonagall?" I'd been so wrapped up in my conversation about Potter that I'd completely forgotten the Weasley boy had been waiting outside.

"Yes, Mister Weasley?"

"Am I allowed to see Harry now, Professor?" He looks imploringly at me with a fair attempt at puppy dog eyes.

"Of course, Mister Weasley," I respond. "Just remember to keep your voice down and leave when Madam Pomfrey tells you to."

The grin that lights up his face is, despite everything, a pleasure to behold.

"Thank you, Professor!" Although in typical Weasley fashion he makes an undignified bolt for the door. I cough loudly and he slows down to a more respectable pace. But just as he got to the doorway he stopped completely and turned to face me. Rather puzzled I raise my eyebrows at him. "Ummm…Professor?"

"Yes, Mister Weasley?"

"Would you… would you… thank Professor Snape for me please?"

At those words I would not be surprised if my eyebrows shot past my hairline. I look at the boy for a long moment, half suspecting this is some kind of mockery or joke but he stays standing there, waiting for my answer. There's no smirk or amusement anywhere on his face; trepidation perhaps but nothing to suggest he isn't serious.

"Of course, Mister Weasley," I answer when I'm certain I have my voice under control. "The Professor was only doing his job though."

"No, Professor," the boy replies quietly looking at his shoes. "He did more than that, Professor."

With that he finally walks into the Hospital Wing leaving me wondering what on earth I've missed this time.

I am starting to really dislike this year.


	16. The Power of Words

**Chapter 16: The Power of Words**

Potter has been released from the Hospital Wing on 'light duties only'; a strict order from Poppy which I don't think anyone wishes to disobey. None of us need a repeat of the last occasion. Due to a combination of outright begging from Oliver Wood and reasoned argument from myself, the medi-witch has reluctantly allowed Potter to train with the rest of the Quidditch team. This is providing a member of staff is present at all times and stops the practice as soon as they become in any way concerned. In the same vein he is only to partake in two of the practices a week and is to rest every half an hour. Wood was not overly impressed with the conditions which were being placed on his new Seeker but thankfully had the sense not to argue the matter further, helped by the furious glares I was sending his way at the time. Luckily other members of staff aren't too fussed about taking turns on the rota of Quidditch practices otherwise we could have real problems, as I can't spare that much time out of my already hectic week.

It's now nearly the allotted time I've scheduled to take Longbottom to Olivander's. It took a while but I did eventually get Augusta to understand the importance of her son having his own wand, or if not the importance then at least the fact that I wasn't taking no for an answer. Considering that while he is at Hogwarts I am effectively an acting guardian for the boy, there wasn't a lot she could actually do about that. That didn't stop her saying an awful lot though. Longbottom was completely correct, I can see why he did not wish to approach his grandmother himself on this matter. The woman was absolutely furious about the fact that I was supposedly trying to take away the only remnant of his father that her grandson had and when that didn't work tried to use the argument that it was clear I didn't believe Neville was fit for his father's wand. And then said it didn't matter anyway as it was clear the boy was more Squib than Wizard.

That's where things really got interesting. Augusta backed down after an exceedingly heated discussion regarding exactly what I did and did not think of her grandson and how it clearly differed greatly from her own views. Certain references may have been made to the occasion where Algie held the boy out of the window by his feet in order to try and trigger some kind of magical response and then actually dropped the child. References were also made to the fact that the boy knows next to nothing of his mother and yet is constantly compared to his father in such a negative light that it's no wonder he thinks he's a Squib. I do not believe I am going to be very popular with Augusta for some time to come but I am not going to lose much sleep over the matter. Some truths just have to be told and I did try the subtle route first. Anyway, if we can find Longbottom a wand that actually suits him, that ought to prove the issue once and for all to the woman.

"Mister Longbottom," I greet him as he comes into sight of the entrance hall. "Perfect timing."

He walks towards me slowly, something gripped tightly in his left hand and he refuses to look up at me. Something isn't right.

"I can't get a new wand, Professor," he says with his eyes on the floor. "I'm sorry for wasting your time."

He moves to turn away and start walking back towards the Gryfindor Common Room but I stop him sharply.

"Mister Longbottom, what is that you are holding?" I have a suspicion I know exactly what he's holding although I hope for Augusta's sake that I'm wrong. If she's bypassed me and gone straight to the boy I will be less than impressed and she will know about it.

"It's a letter, Professor," he answers softly without turning to face me. "It doesn't matter."

"I do believe that is my decision to make, not yours Longbottom," I retort briskly. Not entirely true considering there is no rule saying students have to show personal mail to Professors or for that matter talk about it. We scan everything coming in for attached curses but that's more or less the limit of the supervision of owl post. "Who is it from, Longbottom?"

There's a long hesitation before any response but eventually I hear the muttered, "My grandmother, Professor."

"And is that the reason you believe you can't purchase a new wand, Mister Longbottom?" I don't really need an answer to this question as I'm absolutely certain without it, but it never hurts to get confirmation before rushing into a confrontation. Again, there's a long hesitation before the boy nods slightly.

"May I see the letter?" I ask without preamble and he looks up at me fearfully as he clutches it. "Rest assured, Mister Longbottom, you will not be held responsible for the contents regardless of what it contains."

Finally he shuffles forward, holding the parchment out to me gingerly. I take it gently, noting immediately how creased and worn it already appears to be; clearly Longbottom has read this a multitude of times and crumbled it up at least once. Opening it carefully I start to read. By the time I have finished reading, I am almost shaking with sheer rage. Nobody, not even the boy's grandmother has the right to speak to him like that. Nobody should ever have to hear that from their own flesh and blood. Nobody. And I will not stand for it in one of mine.

"Please accompany me to my office, Mister Longbottom," I say so harshly the boy actively flinches back from my tone looking terrified. I feel my rage rise further as I watch him; he may never have been beaten, starved, abused or neglected in the same way Potter has been all those years, but that does not make this any more acceptable or any easier to stomach. "You are not in any trouble, Mister Longbottom, but I need to speak to your grandmother and for that I require access to my floo."

The child followed meekly behind me as we make our way up to my office. I am barely restraining the rage which is building up within me. The last thing Longbottom needs is me losing my temper in front of him. On arrival I summon a house elf to provide Longbottom with whatever refreshments he might require before turning briskly to the fireplace. I give the required warning for an incoming floo mere moments before I throw the floo powder in, stepping in and snapping my destination out harshly. Not exactly as per protocol I must admit, but protocol can be damned to hell at the moment. I am not in the mood.

"Disgracing the family name, Augusta?" I snarl fiercely even as I stalk out of her fireplace. I note with a certain amount of pleasure how the proud woman in front of me seems to cower slightly before my clear and obvious anger. "Not fit to bear his father's name, much less his wand, Augusta?" I must seem almost feral as I prowl towards her, wand held loosely by my side but most definitely out in the open. Also not as per protocol. I'm not directly threatening her but not far off.

Augusta stands firm as I approach her, but there is a definite flash of insecurity in those proud blue eyes. Not that I can blame her for that. She may have expected an owl, possibly even a howler, but the extremely irate form of the Deputy Headmistress storming into her house with little to no warning? Possibly not. Truth be told, I am breaking just about every rule of etiquette in the book and most of Hogwarts Code of Conduct with this visit but I have to admit I cannot find it in myself to care overly much. I find myself at the end of my tether with inept and cruel guardians and I don't actually give a flobberworms mucus if Albus tries to pull me for my behaviour. I have had enough.

"This is most unexpected, Min-", I cut Augusta's haughty tone off before she gets any further with whatever was about to be said.

"Disowning him from the family inheritance, Augusta?" I hiss as I flick my wand slightly towards her. "Now what would Alice think about that? What would Frank think?"

She still holds her ground but I note her gaze flicks briefly down to my wand warily as I stalk towards her. No matter what else Augusta might be thinking, she knows fully well that if I decide to make this personal she won't stand a chance. What she doesn't know is how much effort it is taking me to not make this deeply, deeply personal, how much restraint I am actually showing.

"Neville is –"

"Neville is a humble, generous and loyal young wizard with a huge amount of potential," I interrupt her again in a growl as I prowl forwards further, watching in gratification as she steps back this time. "Neville is his mother's son and it is about time you recognised that as the true gift it is. Neville is intuitive, caring and fantastically gifted with plants and herbs which you would be able to see if you bothered actually looking at him for once rather than just seeing his father."

"That wand –", she tries again, but yet again I interrupt, spitting my next words out venomously.

"Is his fathers, not his." My tone brooks no argument and I know my eyes must be flashing fiercely. "He is not his father, Augusta, no matter how much you want him to be. He is not and never will be Frank. It is high time you saw that and valued the child you have, rather than the son you lost. He. Is. Not. Frank."

For a fraction of a second, perhaps at the mention of Frank, her eyes lose that proud, domineering look and she seems to buckle. But only for a second. Then her shoulders stiffen and I can feel her aura crackle around her powerfully.

"How dare you tell me –"

"– how to raise your child?" I interject mockingly, completely ignoring the power building steadily around us. It doesn't faze me in the slightest. "News flash, Augusta. He is not your child. Never was and never will be. Frank would be horrified at the way you have treated that boy. Alice would be heart-broken. They loved him."

All of the impotent rage I feel about Potter has come surging to the surface like a tidal wave. Everything I should have done but didn't, everything I should have seen but failed to, everything I wish I could do to his godforsaken relatives. Lily and James loved Harry, Frank and Alice loved Neville. How has that worked out for the children? Lily and James dead, Alice and Frank stuck in some world of insanity unable to break free of it. Harry; abused and beaten, neglected and starved for the sin of being like his father. Neville; derided and unworthy, shot down and seen as a Squib for the sin of not being enough like his father. Is this what their parents suffered and died for? Is this really what they would have wanted? Of course it isn't.

"I dare to tell you how to raise your grandchild," I snap fiercely. "I dare because you clearly don't have a clue. I dare because your grandson is a sweet, caring and charming young wizard who has nearly been destroyed by your tender loving care." She tries to interrupt me but I cut her off without thinking, effortlessly speaking over her forcefully. "I dare because I clearly care for the child more than you do. I dare because I at least can see what is right for Neville in his own right, not Frank in Neville's skin."

I stop before I really lose my temper and start walking towards her fireplace, completely ignoring the spluttering sounds of incoherent argument from behind me. But then I turn.

"I dare because he deserves better than you," I say softly and devastatingly, looking the other witch straight in the eyes as I do so. "Because Frank would have loved him, even if he were a Squib."

With that I throw the floo powder in and step forwards.

"If you don't love him Augusta, you will lose him. Forever."

With that I say the words that take me back to my quarters where I find a very obviously nervous Neville Longbottom sat with a near untouched glass of pumpkin juice next to him.

"Right, Mister Longbottom," I say firmly. "We are getting you a new wand."

"But my gran…"

"Your gran will cause no further problems." If she does there will be more than just words flying around that room next time.

With that I walk out of my office, firmly expectant that the boy will follow me. It isn't long before we are out of Hogwarts.

"I assume you are proficient with Side-Along-Apparition?" I ask curtly. Longbottom nods.

"I've done it before with gran but…"

"Good," I take his hand without further ado and apparate straight to Diagon Alley, carefully keeping hold of his form as well as mine. There's the familiar gut wrenching sensation and then we are there. I turn at the sounds of Neville's loud retching from beside me.

"I thought you said you had done Side-Along-Apparition before, Mister Longbottom?" I ask arching my eyebrows at the pale boy retching his lunch up onto the side.

"I have, Professor," he chokes out between retches. "I'm not very good at it though. I did try to warn you, Professor."

He did indeed I recall. I was just too angry with his blasted grandmother to be paying enough attention and so acted hastily without letting him finish. I should know better.

"Sit down for a second," I say wearily watching as he complies silently. "Breathe deeply. In and out. In and out. It will pass in a few moments. In and out."

"Thank you, Professor," he says gratefully once his stomach had settled sufficiently and colour had started to reappear in his cheeks. "I think I'm ok now, Professor."

"Not a problem, Mister Longbottom," I say with a smile. "You are not the first student to have lost their lunch in front of me and I dare say you are highly unlikely to be the last." He smiles slightly. "My apologies though, I had mistakenly assumed your grandmother would have taught you how to prepare effectively for Side-Along-Apparition; that was my error, not yours." The shock in those hazel eyes is as clear as the light of day; he obviously hadn't expected me to actually apologise to him. "We will take the floo for the return journey."

He looks at me gratefully. Well, I'm hardly going to subject the boy to a second bout of vomiting when there is absolutely no call for it.

"Do you feel fit to continue, Mister Longbottom?" I ask and this time I wait until he nods before continuing. "Off we go then."

He looks significantly better by the time we reach Ollivander's which is a relief. I cannot imagine the wand seller being particularly impressed if the boy started throwing up all over his wares. We enter the shop to be greeted by that tingly bell and once again I am astounded at just how small this shop really is.

"Good afternoon," the soft voice of Ollivander cuts through the dust seeming absurdly loud in this silent place, but from long experience I do not jump. Longbottom almost jumps out his skin though as he twists around desperately trying to locate the source of the noise. His eyes widen even further at the sight of the old man suddenly standing in front of us. Ollivander does tend to have that effect on people.

"Ah, Neville Longbottom." It's not a question and it's not the first time I wonder about that man's uncanny knack for being able to see things nobody else seems to. "I was most disappointed when you didn't arrive to purchase a wand before term started. I so hoped you hadn't taken the Longbottom business elsewhere." Those large pale eyes lock onto the boys unsettlingly and I can't blame the lad for squirming at the attention. "It would have been such a pity. Ollivander wands have been in your house for generations after all."

"No sir," the boy squeaks in obvious discomfort at being addressed so abruptly. "I've been using my father's wand, sir."

"Ah yes," Ollivander says simply. "Yes, Frank Longbottom. Eleven and three quarter inches long, sturdy, made of ash." His eyes flick to me for a second before he turns back to Longbottom. "But not your wand, Mister Longbottom, not your wand indeed. You will never perform to your potential like that. Ash," he seems to mutter almost to himself as he circles the boy watchfully. "Not a wood that likes to be passed on. A difficult wand and not one I would have thought suited to you anyway." He stops his circling briefly. "Hold out your wand arm, Mister Longbottom."

After a moment of hesitation where he looks at me imploringly, Neville holds out his arm for inspection. He watches in stunned silence as Ollivander then proceeds to measure him shoulder to shoulder, wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, round his head and even between his nostrils. I can't blame him for looking utterly bemused. Ollivander isn't exactly a people person. Genius at his art of course, but definitely not a people person.

"I do believe I have the wand for you, Mister Longbottom," the man says softly as he shuffles through the multitude of boxes lining the walls. "The perfect wand indeed. Ash and dragon heartstring is not you, not you at all. Too headstrong and offensive. No, try this one. Beechwood and unicorn hair. Twelve inches. Quite flexible. Take it boy."

The boy hesitantly reaches out to take the proffered wand but within seconds of him even touching it, it was snatched back and carefully placed back in its box by the wand maker.

"No, no, it's not quite right," the man mutters distractedly. "Something is wrong. Here, oak and phoenix feather, eleven and a half inches." Again Longbottom reaches out for the wand, but again the man has snatched it back from him before his fingers have even tightened around the wood. I'm more than used to this spectacle, but Longbottom looks close to tears. I put a gentle hand on his shoulder as to reassure him. "No, no, that's not right either." He seems to think for a moment then smiles suddenly. "Unicorn hair. Just like your mother. Wait for one second." Again he shuffles through the boxes. "Aha!" He exclaims suddenly. "Cherry and unicorn hair, thirteen inches."

This time when Longbottom reaches out the difference is startlingly obvious. As soon as his fingers touch the wand a gentle rainbow of gold, silver and bronze sparks flows out in a graceful ark. The look of contentment that suffuses the young face is a pleasure to behold. I actually hear the hiss of contentment that escapes his lips.

"This one," he sighs, gripping the wand fiercely as if in a bid to avoid Ollivander taking it off him. "This one is mine."

I have to smile at the look of amazement and satisfaction on the young face in front of me. I was right. His grandmother be damned, I was right.

"Completely the opposite of the wand you hold right now, Mister Longbottom." Ollivander speaks exactly as if giving a lecture. "Your mother's wand was similar although no unicorn is the same of course."

Longbottom is looking down at his new wand with something akin to awe on his young face, fingers wrapped tightly around it as if it may disappear.

"Take care of that wand, Mister Longbottom. Cherry wood is one of the rarest of the woods I use. I would hate to see it go to waste."

"It's mine, Professor," he looks up at me in complete wonderment, young eyes shining with excitement. "It's really mine!"

"Many thanks, Mister Ollivander," I say formally. "Please could you charge that to the Longbottom accounts."

"Certainly," Ollivander responds with a bow. "It is my pleasure to have served you today."

Well, that's one task done at least. I order a Nimbus 2000 whilst I'm in Diagon Alley for Potter. If he's going to play I'll have him doing it on a good broom at least.

Now, time to prepare for the Halloween festivities.


	17. There's a Troll in the Dungeon

**Chapter 17: There's a Troll in the Dungeons**

Longbottom's new wand has made a huge difference to his behaviour and attitude both in class and out of it. The fact that it has improved his magical prowess to no end has had a huge effect on his confidence and therefore his attitude. He offers solutions in class on a regular basis and has even started earning house points. I've noticed a distinct and unmistakeable improvement in his Transfigurations abilities and Filius has commented on the leaps and bounds that the boy has been making in Charms. That ought to grate on Augusta almost as much as the new wand he is sporting so proudly; Charms being one of the only subjects she failed after all. Considering our most recent confrontation, I don't mind admitting the fact that thought makes me smile. She's going to be met with a very different Neville Longbottom who goes home this Christmas; one who isn't afraid to smile, no longer compares himself to a Squib and generally exudes a new found confidence that is obvious to anyone looking at him.

Potter is a more troubling case though although I suppose that is to be expected. All Longbottom really needed was proof that he was a capable young wizard in his own right, that he didn't need to be able to put his feet in his father's shoes in order to be worth something. That at least I could give him. The decade of physical, emotional and verbal abuse that Potter suffered is going to be harder to get past. The first step to that is currently lying on my desk waiting for its new owner to collect it. I had thought to send it to Potter with the rest of the morning owls but broomsticks are not the most inconspicuous of items and I can't see him enjoying the inevitable attention it would bring.

It isn't long before the quiet knock at my door heralds the expected arrival of Potter with Longbottom and Weasley, all of them looking rather nervous. That is until Weasley's gaze locks onto the sleek, mahogany broomstick on the table in front of them in centre position of my desk. I smirk slightly as his gaze flicks between the broom to Potter repeatedly, finally locking onto the broom with a surprising intensity.

"Your broomstick, Mister Potter, bought and paid for from the Potter accounts," I state calmly, watching as all three boys now fixate on the broomstick in front of them and move towards it slowly. Rather predictably, Weasley is the first to react.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" he moans enviously. "I've never even _touched_ one! Fred and George are still on the old Cleansweeps! This is amazing!"

I was more than a gifted Quidditch player myself once upon a time, granted a very long time ago, and I recognise the glint of a complete enthusiast in the boy's face. The Nimbus isn't just the best broom currently on the market – it also looks it and I can see the boy almost start to drool as he gazes at it enviously.

"Your first real practice will be at seven o'clock and Professor Flitwick will be supervising. I'm sure Oliver Wood will run you through your paces, make sure you don't disappoint him, Mister Potter."

The boy moves towards the Nimbus gingerly, almost as if afraid this is some kind of fantastic trick being played on him but gradually extends his hand to take it, glancing up at me the entire time. It was heart-breakingly clear he more than expected me to suddenly take it away from him, just because I could. When I didn't move other than nodding at him gently, he took it quickly and clutched it to his chest possessively. The boys left the room with the other two chattering excitedly about various broom specifications and the stroke of luck that it was a Nimbus. I'm sure I heard Weasley exclaim, "Whoever thought old McGonagall would know enough about Quidditch to get you that kind of broom!" I can't help smiling ruefully; I'd swear the students forget that their Professors were ever young.

It's a pity I can't supervise the first practice on that broom myself, unfortunately it clashes with the detention I have scheduled with the Weasley twins and I fear Argus would have a heart attack if I tried to foist it off onto him and none of the other Professors are keen to take detentions with those two. Considering we have banned them from accessing Hogsmeade, I honestly have no idea where they are getting all the equipment for their pranks, but they are certainly not shy about using it. Their main saving grace I suppose, is that they will prank anyone whether Slytherin or Gryffindor, student or staff. There is no immunity unless you happen to be called Albus Dumbledore, and I wouldn't be surprised if they haven't at least tried on him once. Knowing Albus, he wouldn't punish them openly; just find some harmless but highly inconvenient and difficult to remove jinx to use on them.

And so the term progressed; Potter proved time and time again that I was more than correct in placing him on the Quidditch team a year early. Every Professor watching over the practices commented on how much of a natural the boy is; he seems to belong in the sky and once up there shows none of the hesitation and shyness he does on the ground. He's better than James, better than Charlie Weasley even and it would not surprise me if he makes one of the top Quidditch teams later on. He certainly has the talent. He is certainly the best flier Hogwarts has seen in my tenure here, possibly the best seen in the history of the school. But time rolls inexorably on and Halloween came around quicker than I could ever have believed possible, regardless of the fact that it happens every year. There's classes to take, essays to mark, older students to guide through the start of one of the most stressful experiences of their lives so far and of course the inevitable breakdowns to deal with.

It happens every year and isn't surprising I suppose; the workload has increased tenfold and the fact that the exams coming up will determine their entire future is hanging over their heads. I usually have to set aside at least a couple of hours a week for tears, hysteria and general panic in my office which will unfortunately only increase as the year progresses. It does give a surprising insight into the year group though as it's often the least expected who break first; this year one of the older Prefects found sobbing in the deserted female toilets by Pomona was the first of what will prove to be many. I doubt they realise just how closely we watch them for the first signs of breaking, particularly the Gryffindors and Slytherins at this point in the year. The Hufflepuffs often seem to take everything in their stride and the Ravenclaws are usually victims of complete exhaustion much closer to the exams rather than now.

But the Halloween Feast comes regardless and once again I find myself sat at the High Table watching the usual extravagent displays that various faculty have put on for the students entertainment. This year it's thousands of live bats fluttering and swooping over the student tables which has to be Filius' work. The older students, being more than used to this kind of display paid only the barest amount of attention before going back to their conversations and food but the youngsters are more entertaining to watch. And the Weasley twins of course; I may have to search them before letting them go back to the dormitories otherwise certain classes may be distracted in the very near future by the sudden appearance of bats swooping around the classroom.

I was brought out of my musings by the sudden slamming of the heavy door and the sight of Quirinus sprinting down the middle of the hall. The hall was brought to near silence except for muttered giggles and comments at the spectacle of the small man moving faster than I would have believed him possible, turban askew and undoubtedly a look of sheer terror on his face. Not that that's much of a difference from his usual expression, I must admit. He stops right in front of Albus' chair, swaying alarmingly.

"Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know."

The panicked, gasped out words cut across the near silence in the Great Hall before he passed out in an unceremonious heap at the foot of the table. That, I have to admit, was unexpected. There was a brief moment of shocked silence as everyone stared at the prone figure lying in front of Albus' chair and then an outbreak of absolute chaos. Complete, total chaos. Students screaming, staff panicking and more noise than I would have thought possible even after having taught for so many years. The only calm figures anywhere in the hall appeared to be myself, Filius and Albus with the obvious exception of the supposedly unconscious Quirinus.

I glance briefly at the other two Heads of House and nod grimly; this has to be the beginning. There is no way a troll could have got into the castle without a significant amount of effort from someone else; someone had to have brought it in and I'll eat my own hat if it wasn't Quirinus himself. How he managed to get the creature into the castle without Albus' knowledge is beyond me, I have to admit. They are not exactly inconspicuous creatures and have a nasty habit of smashing things loudly with giant clubs. Then I glance at Albus and a thought strikes me unpleasantly. He's looking down at the prone figure of the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor calmly with a benign smile and a definite twinkle in those bright blue eyes. He knew. There is no way Quirinus got that troll in without Albus knowing and letting it happen. Despite the risk to hundreds of children, he let that man get a troll into the castle. He knew. This was planned, he has something up his sleeve and once again we are pieces in his greater plan. We are going to have to be extremely vigilant, but not only of Quirinus it would appear.

Finally the chaos is brought to an end by a series of exceptionally loud purple firecrackers erupting from the end of Albus' wand almost lazily, successfully gaining everyone's attention. The entire hall looks to Albus, everyone looks for guidance from our great and mighty leader.

"Prefects," he rumbles authoritively, not needing any spell to project his voice across the entire hall. There are lots of things I could say about Albus at the moment, but you cannot deny he has presence. "Lead your houses back to their dormitories immediately."

There's a slight pause as the prefects begin to understand the role they have been assigned and then then the rustle of students standing with prefects barking orders at the younger students. Glancing across them you can see the ones who are in their element; Percy Weasley for example effortlessly takes command of the Gryffindor first years whilst several of the others clearly look terrified at the prospect of shepherding their young charges past a troll. They possibly have more common sense in reality.

It doesn't surprise me that Severus immediately rises and swoops down on his Sytherin's without even waiting to be dismissed from the table. They out of every House have stayed completely still, clearly waiting for the input of their Head of House and he doesn't fail them. In fairness, I can't blame them. The prefects clearly have more sense than our Headmaster and have ordered students to stay at the table. Having just heard that there is a troll in the dungeons would make any sensible student extremely wary of going to the dungeons which is exactly where their dormitories are. Thank God they have that much sense. Severus barks something at them before sweeping back up to the High Table.

"Slytherin House will be staying in the Great Hall until further notice," he states firmly. "It would be lunacy to have them blundering around the dungeons now, Albus. Luckily," he fixes a stern gaze on our Headmaster, "they at least had the common sense to wait for appropriate instructions rather than obey blindly."

Once again, I find myself in complete agreement with Severus. If the Slytherin prefects hadn't decided to use their own brains rather than blindly trusting in the wisdom of one older and more powerful than them, we could have had a catastrophe on our hands. Well, providing Severus hadn't got there first. Probably a good job it was the Slytherins, I find myself thinking ruefully; other houses may have been a little more trusting. At least Severus' young charges had the wits to wait for him rather than panicking and promptly getting themselves killed.

"Right, all staff down the dungeons then," Albus once again takes charge, completely ignoring Severus' last comments. "I would suggest we prepare as if we are about to face a fully grown mountain troll." He knows. That last comment completely gives the game away and I can see Severus has noted it as well even if the others haven't. How would he know it's a mountain troll otherwise? "We have more than the ability to subdue the creature between us, although I wouldn't recommend separating." I don't think I imagined the slightly concerned and dubious look Albus gives his wand though, and by the smile on Filius' face I doubt he did either.

But all entertainment aside, a fully grown troll of any description isn't something to toy with lightly; they are large, dangerous and exceptionally difficult to stun. The only benefit is that they are equally stupid and we have huge reserves of magical power between us, let alone the intelligence to run rings around the creature. But there is also the threat to the Stone to think about, as if this isn't a way to distract us from some larger scheming to get to the Stone then my name is Lucius Malfoy. On the plus side, Quirinus has no way as of knowing just yet how far we have increased the defences around the Stone. Neither does Albus for that matter and I have every intention of keeping it that way. Regardless of that, I glance at Severus meaningfully who immediately understands what I am getting off, sharply veering off towards the third floor corridor. No point in taking any chances after all.

"Professor McGonagall!?" All of us, including Severus turn towards the panicked and breathless yell from behind us. Turning sharply I find Longbottom, clearly severely winded, gasping in the corridor looking deeply relieved to have caught our attention.

"Mister Longbottom," I call out sharply. "Why are you not in the dormitories with the rest of your peers as instructed by the Headmaster?"

"It's Hermione, Professor," the youngster gasps hurriedly. "She wasn't in the Great Hall when Professor Quirrel came in. She didn't know about the troll."

Well, that complicates matters somewhat I have to admit although I am exceptionally relieved someone came to find me rather than go hunting after the girl themselves. Until I note the boys use of the word 'didn't". He didn't say she 'doesn't' know about the troll, he said she 'didn't' suggesting that she does now.

"And where is Miss Granger now?" I ask firmly. If he knows that, my suspicions are correct.

"She was in the female toilets, Professor. We went to find her but we didn't realise the troll was there as well. We accidentally locked her in with her!" I feel my heart beating faster with every word he says. If we don't have a fatality by the end of the day it is going to be a miracle; my fears are plain on the faces of every other member of staff. "They sent me to find you but they went into the toilet, Professor!"

There's muffled swearing from Severus behind me as my chest clenches alarmingly. Fool hardy, reckless idiots. For the first time I find myself agreeing with Severus' vocal opinions on my Gryffindors. The thought of three first years against a mountain troll? Well, it doesn't bare thinking about. We'll be lucky if the fatality rate of tonight stays at my previous estimate. A muggleborn, a Weasley and the Boy-Who-Lived; the press are going to have a field day.

"Well, change of plan then," Albus chuckles lightly. Yes, three students are in mortal danger and the man actually has the gall to chuckle with that sparkle shining so brightly in those damnable blue eyes. One of these days I am seriously going to throttle that insufferable mad old coot. "I do believe we need to rescue our miscreant young hero's."

Severus, Filius and myself are already striding back the way we had come as he speaks. Of course we're going to rescue the young idiots even if I kill the entire pack of them myself afterwards. I'm already mentally listing the stream of punishments I am going to dole out as we move, at least partly to forestall the fear that keeps trying to clutch at me. But the closer we get, the more we can hear the crashes and thumps and I find myself forgetting any thoughts of punishment and breaking into a run for the second time this term with Severus and Filius close on my heels. By the time we reach the toilets there is no doubt that we are about to encounter an exceptionally enraged troll; I just hope we are going to meet living students as well.

"Stunners at the ready," I shout to the staff surrounding me as we burst through the door, just in time to hear a clearly desperate cry of _Wingardium Leviosa_! Our combined stunners hit the troll squarely in the chest at the exact same time as its own club lands solidly on its head with a heavy thunk. The creature collapses heavily to the ground making the entire room tremble and I look around at the complete devastation of the room we are standing in. Toilet stalls ripped out of their fitting, sinks smashed with water leaking everywhere, chunks of the walls are gaping holes and the floor isn't much better but somehow, despite all the odds my three charges seem to be standing.

Potter and Granger are the closest to the door; the boy standing determinately in front of the terrified girl as if to protect her and seemingly trying to drag her to the exit. Sometimes I feel life will never fail to surprise me; the boy is terrified of his own shadow and jumps out of his skin if you touch him without warning. But put him in the same room as a twelve foot mountain troll and a young female? Suddenly, he's the one protecting her. Or maybe it's just that that he has no recognition of the value of his own life; that's a far more worrying thought and one I'm going to have to have a word with Poppy about. It would also explain the completely suicidal dive for Longbottom's Remembrall despite having no flying experience. Weasley is even more conspicuous though if that's at all possible; he's the one staring in complete amazement at his wand as if it completed that feat of magic entirely on its own. No matter what else I think about this, that was a perfectly executed _Wingardium Leviosa_...

"What on earth were you thinking of?" I snap coldly as my anger suddenly outweighs my concern and fury rings through every word I speak. "This is the second time you have tried to get yourself killed this term alone, Mister Potter. Are you trying to set some kind of record!?"

Potter looks at me fearfully as he shrinks back into the wall besides Granger. In fairness, I doubt they were thinking at all, but that is completely besides the point. It is a complete miracle that we didn't just walk in to find three dead students and regardless of whether they thought they were doing the right thing I cannot have them recklessly endangering themselves. We are there to protect them.

"Please, Professor McGonagall?" I whip my head around to the Granger girl fiercely, but to my surprise she holds her ground. "They were looking for me, Professor."

"I am more than aware of that, Miss Granger," I snap out, cutting off whatever else she might have been about to say. "What I am more concerned about is why they thought they were any more equipped to deal with a twelve foot mountain troll than you are and why they didn't immediately fetch a Professor when they realised you were missing!?"

"We panicked, Professor," the words spoken so softly surprise me, particularly as they are spoken by Potter who usually lets the Weasley boy do the speaking for him. "We couldn't see any teachers around and went to find Hermione; we never expected to find it. Then we realised we'd actually locked Hermione in with that... that thing and we panicked." His eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second and I can see the fear in them but also the honesty. Additionally, Weasley is glaring at him fiercely as if the truth will just get them in more trouble than they are already in. "Neville went to get you, but we could hear Hermione screaming and we couldn't leave her in there alone. We didn't know what to do. We panicked, Professor."

"If they hadn't found me so quickly, I'd be dead by now!" Granger interjects quickly. "It was just about to finish me off when they arrived!"

"Well, congratulations would appear to be in order..." the benign voice of Albus interrupts for the first time."After all, Mister -"

"- Longbottom did come and find the relevant members of staff required to bring assistance to students in mortal peril," I interject smoothly. I don't know what he's playing at, but I will not have them rewarded for this fiasco, they could have been killed. It was complete recklessness and damned idiocy even if they are still standing. "That will be twenty points to Gryffindor, Mister Longbottom for quick thinking and appropriate reactions in a situation you had no experience of when you could have simply panicked."

I watch as the boy's face goes bright pink at the unexpected praise.

"And of course -" Albus once again tries to interject but this time it's Filius who takes over. I doubt he fully understands the game I just played with Albus, but he recognises I do not want Albus handing out points. I'm gratified by the fact that he is backing me rather than Albus.

"- of course, Mister Weasley has just used a perfectly executed _Wingardium Leviosa_ charm despite not having previously mastered the charm and being in an extremely stressful situation. I do believe that merits ten points to Gryffindor."

"But surely -" Albus looks like he's sucking on a lemon, rather than one of those muggle lemon drops he is so fond of.

"- punishments will be dealt with by the Gryffindor Head of House," Severus interjects smoothly and I have to bite back a smile. Three Heads of House have just run rings around the great Albus, and the kids have no idea. The other staff might though judging by some of the looks they are shooting me. I may have some explaining to do.

"Indeed," I say sternly, looking directly at Weasley and Potter. "I would detract ten points each for sheer stupidity," I snap, watching Potter shrink backwards. "But, I value honesty and you did act in good faith even if it was fool-hardy, astoundingly dangerous and completely reckless. Therefore five points from Gryffindor a piece and I will be assigning you detention for the next week."

That effectively negates the ten points Filius gave Weasley for his charm work, whilst making it clear to Potter I will not punish anyone for honesty even if I will for whatever they did in the first place. It also means Longbottom's points aren't affected.

"All three of you are lucky to be alive," I finish sharply. "If none of you are hurt, you may go straight back to the Gryffindor Tower where the students are finishing off the feast."

They all shuffle out and I breathe an inward sigh of relief that my next task is not to explain to Molly Weasley why her youngest son has been killed by a mountain troll on my watch. I don't think the excuse that he went in without telling me would cut any ice in reality. Considering the nature of the school, it is quite remarkable that we have only had one fatality in all the years I can recall, but the second one being the youngest Weasley boy doesn't even bear thinking about.

It's only when the kids have gone that I realise something very important.

Quirinus has gone.

And it doesn't escape my notice that Albus is studiously avoiding looking at the place where he was standing.

I am going to throttle that man.


	18. Cerberus and Quidditch

**Chapter 18: Cerberus and Quidditch**

With the realisation that, regardless of our prior knowledge, Quirinus' distraction technique had actually worked came the additional realisation that this was real. Despite everything I've said and done this term, despite our attempts to increase the protections around the stone, part of me still desperately wanted to believe that this was all some kind of mistake. A section of both my heart and mind really wanted to believe that Albus did really have everything in hand, that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was truly gone forever and that Quirinus is in reality just a nervous teacher with an exceptionally annoying stutter. I wanted to believe we were wrong regardless of how naively foolish and optimistic I knew that to be. I couldn't help myself. However, with an unconscious troll on the floor of a student bathroom; a troll almost undoubtedly brought in by Quirinus with the full knowledge of Albus, a troll that could have killed three of my young charges without even blinking, all of those doubts are instantly dashed. This is the beginning. This is where it all starts and suddenly we have a battle on our hands. Suddenly I can't allow even a fraction of my mind to fall prey to these doubts. Severus was right.

The corridors up to the third floor corridor are thankfully deserted; it would appear my three charges were the only ones to disobey the headmasters directive. On initial inspection of the third floor corridor there doesn't seem to be any signs of disturbance and I almost breathe a sigh of relief. Filius however moves straight to the door in order to check it.

"The locking charm I placed has been removed," he says grimly as he removes his hands from the door. "That was a strong piece of charm-work I used, Minerva. It would have taken a substantial amount of power and skill to remove it."

That's not a promising start. If the locking charm Filius placed had been undisturbed then we wouldn't have to investigate any further...for the meanwhile at least. It having been removed means that is no longer an option. Even more unfortunately, that means coming face to face with the monstrous creature that lies behind the door and trying to keep our eyes on all three of its blasted heads at once. Severus may announce on a regular basis that reckless courage, otherwise known as blind stupidity, is strictly a Gryffindor trait but that is not a task this particular Gryffindor relishes the idea of. We could go and find Hagrid, but that takes time. Time which we simply don't have. We need to know if Quirinus has breached the first level of protections.

"Well," I state briskly, trying to keep my obvious anxiety out of my voice. From the look Filius shoots me, I don't think I was overly successful. "I do believe we need to investigate."

"But, Minerva!" Poppy gasps in horror. "What do you mean!? We can't face that thing on our own! Even T _he Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures_ specialists wouldn't try to deal with it without serious back up!"

"We don't need to actually engage it," Severus snaps sharply. "All we need to know is if it's still standing and if the trap door in the room is open."

"Severus is right," I agree with a certain amount of relief in my tone. "Actively engaging the beast would be near suicidal and we simply don't have the experience to even try. What we need is some kind of distraction technique; something to give us a couple of minutes to check that door." I look at Filius expectantly. "Any ideas?"

There was a long silence as Filus thinks and I can almost see the cogs whirring in that fantastic brain of his.

"I can cast a Disillusionment Charm over you and Severus, but whether that works on magical creatures is uncertain at best considering their heavy reliance on scent and hearing," Filius muses contemplatively and not overly reassuringly before he continues. "However, an over powered _Lumos_ and set of _Dazzlespark_ spells might do the trick of blinding the beast in the short term. You will have to ensure that you are not looking in the direction of the room when we open that door though, otherwise you'll be just as badly affected and it will all be for naught."

"It won't do any permanent damage to the creature will it, Filius?" I ask warily. I may not be a fan of having three-headed monstrosities hidden in the castle, but not only is it the first point of protection for the stone, there's Hagrid to think of. If he ever found out that we'd permanently disabled his 'pet' dog, there wouldn't be large enough pieces of us left to bury, Deputy Headmistress or not. For heavens sake, he's named darn thing 'Fluffy'!

"No," Filius says mildly, "but it should give you at least a couple of minutes to check that trap-door before it gains any vision back. I'll start sending off rounds of other distraction spells to try to cover your escape if that happens, but no matter what you will not have a great deal of time." He stops and looks up at me suddenly with an unmistakable amount of concern in his eyes. "Are you going to be able to do anything about its feet, Minerva?"

"Its feet?" I ask confused. "What do you mean? What's wrong with its feet?"

"Think, Minerva," he responds sharply. "It is all well and good to blind the creature, but even if we are successful in taking the three heads out of the equation temporarily, you still have four exceptionally large and potentially damaging paws to contend with. They may not have snarling jaws but they are still large enough to crush you. If it panics and starts thrashing around you are going to be in real trouble. You need to be able to do something about the feet before you start moving around between them."

Filius' words sent a shiver of cold fear down my being; he is completely correct and I was a complete fool not to have seen it. It's all well and good negating the greatest threat but that doesn't mean we'll be any less dead if we're crushed by the things paws instead of being mauled to death. I start thinking, quickly. We need some way to prevent the beast from moving its legs whilst we are in the room and I very much doubt an _Impedimenta_ or _Immoblio_ will go much good against such a large beast, particularly as Filius is going to be otherwise engaged with trying to distract it. What else do I have to work with?

"The floor," I say with more confidence than I actually feel. "I can transfigure the ground around its feet upwards to keep its feet trapped whilst we're in there." I look at Severus sharply. "That does mean both myself and Filius are going to be engaged in complex magic; the task of checking the trap-door is going to fall to you and Pomona."

Which in reality means that the task is going to be down to Severus, particularly considering that Pomona looks as if she's going to faint just at the idea of going into the room.

"Right, well, if that's sorted," Filius says bluntly, "we need to open the door first I do believe." He looks around at all of us. "Remember, keep your eyes averted until I've cast the first spells. Three...Two...One...NOW!"

With that he yanks open the door with a bellowed yell of _Lumos_ and several other charms I don't immediately recognise. Even averting my face from the door with eyes tightly closed, the blinding light still seems to sear through my very eyelids into my brain.

"MINERVA! NOW!"

The second bellow alerts me to the fact that it's comparatively safe to enter now and that I have a job to do myself. Focussing fiercely on the ground around the beasts feet I bring it up and around so that it encases them. Filius was completely right; those things are absolutely huge, a single swipe from one of them alone might be enough to kill in one swipe on their own. You certainly wouldn't be getting back up in a hurry afterwards at the very least. It's taking the majority of my power to keep the transfigured material there against the giant creatures manic struggles. Looking around frantically I see Severus slipping between the gigantic legs to get to the trap door and all seems to be going well until the beast starts shaking it's heads around alarmingly.

"Filius! Severus!" I shout in warning, hoping to any God there might be that the two can hear me over near deafening bellows of the enraged creature.

Whether they heard or whether Filius simply spotted the same as I did is immaterial, as suddenly the air is suddenly filled with birds of all different shapes and sizes swooping around the creatures heads and and Severus' black robes start sweeping back amongst the creatures legs. Once again, my heart is in my mouth as I back out the door myself; I've still got the creatures gigantic paws under control by the skin of my teeth but unless Filius can keep its attention on the birds that will be as little use as a chocolate frog in a heatwave.

Finally, after what seems like hours we're all outside the door again just looking at each other in complete disbelief; it seems completely astonishing that all of us actually made it out of that room alive. I lean heavily against the wall for support.

"Fluffy!" I gasp out finally. "The man actually called that thing Fluffy!"

That got a muffled snort from Filius as he eyes me and Severus up carefully.

"That is certainly not the description I would have used," the small man mutters quietly. "But, each to their own. At least it isn't a dragon." He looks to Severus. "The trap-door?"

"The trap-door is still intact," Severus finally comments in surprisingly calm tones, but the glistening sheen of sweat on his forehead is noticeable as is the fact that I am not the only one leaning against the wall heavily. "Quirinus may have made it through the door, but he definitely had no luck against that thing."

That's something at least, although the knowledge does not calm the frantic beating of my heart. It's not every day one has to deal with monstrous creatures that belong in books rather than real life. I still can't believe that originally any first year could have walked through that door with barely any research. The Four Heads of House together barely escaped with everything intact after decades of experience and research; students of any age wouldn't stand a chance.

"Well, that's somewhat of a relief," Filius breathes slowly. "Any sign of Quirinus?"

"No," Severus says sharply. "Although that doesn't mean much. If the man has any sense whatsoever, he took one look at that thing and went straight back through the door. It won't stop him looking for ways to get past it though."

"No, it won't," Filius exhales sharply. "We need to find some way to get him out the castle. I don't think any of us want to go through that again. I know I for one would be exceedingly grateful if I never have to lay eyes on that thing again."

"Between the four of us we should be able to find a way," I say sharply. "The man has to slip up sometime."

Little did I know just how right I was.

* * *

Despite everything the first Quidditch match of the season comes around though, and it comes remarkably quickly. I have to admit to being exceptionally relieved; it'll be a nice change of pace and with it being Potter's first chance to really shine it will certainly be an interesting watch. It would not surprise me if we wipe the floor with the Slytherin team having watched our lot practising. The Gryffindor team moves now with renewed confidence and enthusiasm that is a pleasure to watch and it's simply because they suddenly have a serious chance at winning. A good Seeker is worth their weight in gold and Potter is more than just a 'good' Seeker. At the very least it will be a welcome relief from the close eye I've had to keep on Quirinus ever since Halloween. I can suddenly understand why Mad-Eye is so unhinged; Constant Vigilence is utterly exhausting and even then I haven't seen anything to hint that Quirinus is more than he seems to be. If anything he seems even more nervous than usual, as if he expects another troll to appear from nowhere at any given moment. The students mock him and the staff pity him...only four of us fear him, whilst one seems to court the danger he represents.

"Mount your brooms, please." Rolanda's call means the game is about to start. The loud blast on the whistle is the signal for fifteen brooms to rise seamlessly into the air

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor," the voice of Lee Jordon floats over the entire stadium as he commentates, "what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive too -"

I groan inwardly. Just once, for one single Quidditch game, I'd love to be able to watch without having to police the teenager doing the commentary.

"Jordan!" I growl at the third year with a warning glare.

He gives me an impudent grin before apologising, leaving me little doubt of how sincere the apology was. I have no doubt that this won't be the last time I have to call him out although I suppose that is to be expected; he runs with the Weasley twins after all. Once I'm certain that the boy has resumed a more professional commentary I start scanning the skies for Potter. It takes me a while to find him as he's gliding far above the other players keeping well out of the action. Wood knows his tactics; keep your Seeker out of harm's way until he's actually needed. Watching him swooping around I feel a flash of pride; he really is a fantastic flier.

"Slytherin in possession," Jordan announces. "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys and Chaser Bell and speeds towards the – wait a moment – was that the Snitch!?"

The Slytherin Chaser is suddenly forgotten as all attention focusses on the two Seekers. Potter drops steeply into a sharp dive closely followed by the Slytherin Seeker, Higgs. That was definitely the Snitch. All gameplay seems to stop as everyone stands to watch the two Seekers diving neck and neck, hurtling down at impressive speeds with Potter gradually ground on Higgs. For a second, as his hand reaches out to try to grab the shimmering, fluttering golden ball, it looks as if he's got it and you can see the grounds ready to erupt. But just as his hand starts to brush against the golden ball there's a huge crashing sound and without warning Potter spins violently off course leaving an extremely smug looking Slytherin Captain almost exactly where he had been before. It doesn't take a genius to know exactly what happened; Flint deliberately blocked him causing the crash. The Gryffindors are all on their feet screaming blue murder, Jordan is howling something into the microphone but I can't focus on anything other than the figure of Potter as he spins dangerously, desperately trying to bring his broom under control. Only when the boy is stable and in control of the broom does anything else start to make sense, only then can I focus.

"So – after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating from the Slytherin -"

With the ability to focus comes the realisation of what Jordan is announcing and I have no choice but to turn and glare at him, despite the fact that he is completely right.

"Jordan!" I snarl at him, more irritated with Flint than I am with him in reality.

"I mean, after that open and absolutely revolting foul -"

"Jordan," I repeat fiercely. Regardless of anything else, if the boy wants to continue in this role, he is going to have to learn to control his emotions and act professionally. "I am warning you -"

"All right, all right," he snaps out, clearly still furious with the Slytherin Captain. "Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone I'm sure." Sarcasm is dripping off his every word, but I'll let him have that. "A penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away no trouble and we continue play."

And the game continues with no further issues; the Gryffindors are playing with a renewed frenzy that is a pleasure to behold. The Weasley twins are hammering those Bludgers around with a force of fury that has the entire Slytherin team barely daring to take their eyes off them and the Chasers are refusing to let the opposing team anywhere near the Quaffles. I was so engrossed in the game unfolding in front of us, or more importantly watching Slytherin get their broomsticks handed to them on a plate, that it took me far longer than it should have to realise something was wrong with Potter. It was only when I glanced up on the off-chance that there might be a Snitch flying near him that I realised.

From being seamless in the air, whooping and swooping as the game played underneath him, suddenly Potter is flying in jerky zip-zags, getting higher and higher with every jerk. I point the small figure out to Jordan who immediately takes my meaning.

"And what is going on with Potter's broom!?" He gasps out gaining everyone's attention. "It looks like it's completely out of control! Could the collision with Flint have damaged the Nimbus Two Thousand? Surely that's not possible! But it looks like some assistance could be used as he has clearly lost control!"

He continues commenting on Potter's plight, and once again the entire game is ignored as everyone watches the Potter boy in complete horror. The Weasley twins immediately shoot upwards to try to to pull Potter off his broom to safety, but every time they try it just jerks higher trying to shake the boy off his broom. I know Jordan isn't correct. No collision or schoolboy could have done that to a Nimbus Two Thousand, and I know it's an original. The only thing that could interfere with the wards and protections put on that broomstick would be Dark Magic. Powerful, powerful Dark Magic. And there is only one person in this crowd who could be capable of it. Well, two, but I trust Severus with my life.

I'm already on my feet, scanning the staff box trying to locate Quirinus but again my attention is gained by the gasps of the crowd and looking up I can see Potter's broom rolling three sixty degrees with the boy more or less clinging on by his knees, desperately trying to grasp it again. The rest of the Gryffindor team have given up on the match completely and are circling below him doggedly; if he falls they will try to catch him. Grabbing Jordan's Field Glasses without a word of apology I start looking back frantically to the staff box. I spot Severus first, his eyes set on Potter and clearly muttering something under his breath but I can see the strain in his face. I glance back up to Potter and feel my heart rise in my chest further. The child is now hanging off a bucking broomstick by his hands alone, dangling in mid-air with the rest of the team under him. He can't hold on much longer.

And then I find Quirinus. You almost wouldn't notice his wand or even his eye contact, but there's something about his countenance which radiates malevolence. Looking closely, it's easy to see that his eyes are fixed on Potter and he is also muttering something under his breath. Whatever curse he is using is somehow beating Severus' counter-charm, second by second he is gaining the upper hand.

So I do the only thing I can thing of.

"STUPEFY!"


	19. Time for some Truths

**Chapter 19: Time for some Truths**

There was no doubt in my mind that my stunner would have hit its target and I was moving well before I had a chance to find out. I knew it would have; my aim was impeccable. Glancing up briefly as I move, I note with great relief that Potter is back to actually riding his broom rather than hanging off it. I storm across the pitch furiously. That man just tried to kill one of my students and there is no doubt in my mind that was an attempt to kill or at the very least to seriously maim. That treacherous swine just tried to kill an eleven year old child under my protection right under my very nose; Potter has been through more than enough without the people who are meant to be responsible for safeguarding him instead trying to finish the job his damnable relatives started. My fury rises with every step I take; he had the sheer nerve and audacity to try to harm one of my own, he dared to attack Harry Potter of all people on my own watch. I'd be furious if it had been any student, let alone one of my own house, but to attack Harry so openly, so brazenly, right in front of me? The man must have a sincere and urgent death wish which I have absolutely no qualms about fulfilling.

By the time I reach the staff stands I am literally shaking with pure and total rage; nobody hurts one of my cubs, much less in front of me, Dark Lord or not. I lost too many during the last war and I can still remember the names and faces of every single one of the fallen; that monster took far too much from us last time and it will be over my dead body that he gets the chance to take any more. Storming up to the prone figure I notice immediately that Severus is standing guard and refusing to let any other members of staff anywhere near the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor; nobody seemed willing to argue with the sheer hatred resonating from those dark, hooded eyes in order to renervate the fallen Professor. In all honesty, I can't blame them. Severus looks positively deadly.

"Bind him," I snap sharply, causing outraged gasps from many of the assembled staff now watching the display.

Severus' glare is still extremely effective though and despite the clear shock and outright disapproval of many of the spectators, none of attempt to intervene or protest. And if Severus' clear displeasure isn't doing the trick, the fury rolling off me in waves should if they value their hides. Threads of pure silver magical twine shoot past from my left hand side to wrap themselves securely around Quirinus' ankles and wrists, knitting themselves tightly into a sound magical seal. I turn slightly, not at all surprised to see Filius behind me with his wand raised and face set dangerously as he completes the binding with a sharp movement of his wand. Very few would be able to pull that kind of magical binding off so effortlessly, none of whom are currently assembled around us. He turns sharply to me, eyes flashing fiercely as he nods down at the prone man.

"He's bound with my own personal magical signature," the small man states coldly. "Nothing short of killing me will release that binding unless I will it."

"Now, now, Minerva," the low chuckle from behind me announces the arrival of the Headmaster onto the scene. Whirling to meet him I can't help but be rather amused by the looks of utter disgust both Filius and Severus are shooting the man although he doesn't seem to register this fact. His eyes fix on me but despite the slight smile on his face the twinkle is nowhere to be seen. "Don't you think you are being more than a little hasty here? You have just stunned and bound a fellow Professor in front of the entire student body. That seems more than a little excessive, Minerva. I am sure we can find a much more suitable –"

"I think you will find that _I_ bound Quirinus here, not Minerva, and the entire student body is far too busy watching Mister Potter who by the looks of it has just caught the Snitch" Filius grinds out eyes flashing dangerously, "to even notice what we are currently doing." I glance over at the pitch to see that Potter has indeed caught the Snitch and is about to be mobbed by his own team. This will certainly be a Quidditch match to go down in history. "And I have no intention of removing these bindings until I am completely satisfied that Quirinus is in the capable hands of Amelia Bones and a squad of Aurors."

"Filius, do you really think that this is truly necessary?" the older man's tone suddenly has a hint of steel behind his words which belies his grandfatherly smile and those striking blue eyes have gained a hard glint to them. This is not going according to the great Dumbledore's plans, whatever they are, and he is not impressed. For some reason only known to Albus bloody Dumbledore, he is protecting the man who just tried to kill Harry Potter even if he did fail. More worryingly, if he knows as much as I think he does, he is trying to protect He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named from discovery. "After all, Hogwarts discipline has always been dealt with by Hogwarts and always will be. There is no need to bring the DMLE in, much less Amelia Bones herself."

"This is not some minor student infraction or indiscretion, Albus," I snap furiously with a glare that would hold Death itself in place. "That man just tried to kill one of my first years and I believe that is very much a matter for the DMLE. Mister Potter could have been killed, would have been killed," I continue before he can interrupt, "were it not for Severus' quick reactions and intervention. Quirinus has just shown very clearly how unfit he is to hold a teaching post and I would be very interested to hear his exact reasons as to why he just tried to kill the Boy-Who-Lived. After all, the only reason to want Mister Potter dead is if you follow He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Unless there is proof that he has been held under the Imperius, that would be an Azkaban worthy offence so I think Amelia Bones will be very interested."

I am shaking with sheer rage, Albus will not be allowed to put my students in danger in such a blatant and obvious manner. We are there to protect them; there isn't much further away from protecting them than attempting to kill them. Quirinus will not be going anywhere near another student again, much less one Harry Potter. The troll was quite bad enough and could quite easily have had absolutely disastrous consequences but this was a direct and obvious attack on an individual student with the intent to kill. Additionally, this time we will be able to prove it and have enough direct witnesses to merit the use of Veritaserum. Albus is glaring death at me, his face set like stone and his eyes hard and cold. He is not used to being challenged, much less challenged in front of an audience and it is quite clear he is not impressed in the slightest. But I will not dance blindly to the pipers tune any longer. I will not allow this to continue.

"Minerva, I do believe you must be exaggerating," our Headmaster states coldly, staring at me with an expression somewhat akin to disappointment but somehow harder. Unfortunately for him, I have little reason to care about his disappointment, although much more reason to be disappointed myself. Once again his belief in some greater cause is blinding him to the damage being done to the individuals it is his duty to care for, and once again it is Mister Potter who is getting hurt. He lost any influence over me the moment Potter walked through those doors and the grandfatherly act is now beginning to grate on my nerves. A lot. I return his gaze levelly, refusing to back down or look away. "There is no proof whatsoever that Quirinus has attempted to harm anyone and we all know that it is not in his nature to be aggressive. You have merely jumped to conclusions without first obtaining the facts. I am sure that there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for this." He turns to our resident Charms Master, that hard look still in his eyes even if his tone is mild. "Filius, if you would be so kind as to remove the restraints you have placed, then I am sure we can sort this misunderstanding out without further problems."

He glanced at me briefly at his last comment, his meaning clear; I will not cause any further issues. But it's not Albus I'm paying attention to, it's Filius. I don't think I have ever seen the usually jovial little man look so cold, so dangerous, so outright deadly. Even that occasion where he disarmed the older man cannot compare with the look on his face now, let alone the magical energy crackling fiercely around him so powerfully. He looks just as furious as I feel and I have to admit I am exceptionally grateful that fury is not aimed at me. Even Albus, the great and powerful Albus takes a small step back under the sheer power and fury of that glare, confusion clearly warring with disbelief and a slight hint of insecurity on his face. This is his school, he is the Leader, the one we are all accustomed to following and he is very much accustomed to being obeyed. When the almighty Albus Dumbledore gives an order, even one that is laid out in gentle and respectful phrasing, we are meant to jump to obey his commands without thought or hesitation. That is how it has always been. But Filius is not obeying, Filius is not backing down and every line of his posture right down to the wand in his hand screams that this is not a battle Albus will win. First me, now Filius. If the situation were somewhat less tense I could applaud the man, instead I make do with the slight smirk that graces my face.

"I don't believe I will, Albus," the smaller man responds softly but I am not fooled by the gentle tone of voice. Quiet it might be, but that doesn't detract from the fact that he is clearly only one step away from hexing the venerable and distinguished wizard in front of him. This is clearly not missed by the Headmaster either as he glances down at Filius' wand; he has been disarmed once already, and I don't think Filius would restrain himself to that this time. "I believe Minerva's excellently aimed Stunner can stay in place as well for the sake of peace and quiet of course." He turns to me, effectively turning his back on Albus. "That was a marvellous piece of spell-work by the way, I doubt I could have done better myself."

"Thank you, Filius," I remark gracefully watching as he now turns to face Severus who looks down at him calmly.

"Severus, would you mind sending your Patronus out to Amelia Bones for me?" He asked almost serenely and smiles slightly at the clear confusion on Severus' face. "Normally I would do it myself, but the magical bindings I am holding require a substantial amount of magical energy to maintain and I have no intention of letting them slip."

I do have to smile at the rather obvious swipe Filius just made at Albus. I am absolutely certain that it would be well within the man's more than considerable power to have cast his Patronus even whilst holding Quirinus' bindings, in fact I very much doubt it would even cause him to raise a sweat whilst doing so. However, that was a masterfully aimed gibe at the man who should be restraining the unconscious wizard in front of us instead of petitioning for his release. Not only has Filius just re-iterated his earlier refusal to obey Albus' order to release Quirinus, he has also made it very clear exactly how little faith he has left in our supposed leader and how little respect he has left for the man's decisions.

Severus merely inclined his head slightly, although I very much doubt he missed the meaning hidden behind Filius' words. From the look on Albus' face, I doubt he did either. With a graceful ark of his wand and a muttered incantation a dainty silver doe stepped delicately from the tip of his wand to stand calmly in front of him waiting for orders. Not for the first time it amazes me that such a cold and aloof wizard could have such a petite and beautiful Patronus; I'd have assumed that some form of snake or reptile would be more suitable but ever since I have known the man he has always had the almost exquisite. feminine Patronus that we see in front of us. It always suggested to me that despite the exterior he shows to the world, there are hidden depths to our Potions Master. The fact that he can cast the Patronus Charm at all is another indicator. He mutters something to the small Patronus and then inclines his head again, watching as it flies swiftly away.

But I'm not the only one watching the Patronus so carefully; Albus started when it first appeared and gazes after it long after it has left our line of sight before he turns slowly to face Severus and I'm shocked to find tears in those ancient old eyes.

"After all this time?" the old man murmurs so softly I have to strain to catch what he's saying. "Still, after all these years, Severus?"

Looking quizzically at Severus I can't help but notice the tension in his shoulders or the strain in his face. I don't understand what Albus is asking him, but whatever it is seems to have great meaning and import for the man. Walking up behind him I gently put a hand on his elbow, ignoring the shocked glance he sends me as well as the slight flinch. He glances across the pitch towards Potter almost instinctively.

"Always," he responded softly, looking back at Albus with an odd expression on his face that I don't think I've seen before. "Always, Albus."

Nothing else is said for a long time after that, the only people who seem to have understood the last remarks are Severus and Albus themselves and neither look all too keen to share whatever revelation was just revealed. After what seems like hours there's a sharp crack taking us all by surprise and a small house elf bows deeply.

"Masters and Mistresses have a visitor. Mistress Bones and others is at the gates," it squeaks looking between myself, Filius and Severus whilst completely ignoring the still stunned Quirinus sprawled across the floor. Apparently unconscious wizards are not nearly as interesting to house elves as they are to us. "Shall Dustin bring Mistress Bones here?"

"Yes, thank you Dustin," I answer gently ignoring the looks of shock on several faces at the fact that I have just referred to the elf by name. I ignore the noticeable smirk on Severus' face as well; I might have to accuse him of being a good influence on me later just to see the reaction. "Would it also be possible for you to fetch Madam Pomfrey for us, please?"

"Dustin shall do as Mistress commands."

With that it disappears with another sharp crack and we wait patiently for the return of the elf and company. It doesn't take long, Amelia Bones marches across the pitch with a set of four Aurors at her back and an expression like stone. Poppy Pomfrey is not far behind. Whatever Severus said, he clearly made an impression. I step forward to meet the formidable witch in front of us.

"Welcome, Madam Bones," I greet her formally. "You have our sincerest thanks for coming out at such short notice."

"It is not a problem, Professor," she responds with equal formality before softening into a slight smile. "And it's Amelia, I believe we've known each other long enough to dispense with the formalities, Minerva."

"Indeed Amelia," I smile back. "I am unsure how much information Severus imparted to you in his message but as you arrived so quickly I am certain he imparted the urgency of our request?"

"He did indeed," she looks at me sharply. "A Professor attempting to murder a first year student with Dark Magic to paraphrase the message. Considering Hogwarts long standing reluctance to involve the Ministry in incidents occurring during school terms or on school property, it appeared prudent to arrive quickly and with the squad of Aurors that Professor Snape had requested."

"It would appear you have all the pertinent information." I nod grimly. "It might be a wise precaution to move this conversation to my office in order to prevent young ears from getting wind of what is occurring before any formal statement is made." I turn to Poppy. "Poppy, would you mind transporting Quirinus here up to my office? If you could stay and witness the proceedings I would also be grateful. Having an additional Healer present to ensure fair treatment would be exceptionally useful."

It's only then that Poppy seems to see the prone figure of Quirinus on the floor and instinctively starts to move over to him with her kit. I stop her with a wave of my hand.

"He is merely stunned, Poppy," I remark calmly. "I would prefer him to stay that way until we are in a secure location."

I can see the questions that she wants to ask but instead she nods, conjuring a stretcher and levitating the unconscious man onto it without a word. The look she flashes me makes it very clear that she will expect answers though. With that the group of us move into the castle towards my quarters, Severus vanishing briefly to collect some Veritaserum before re-joining us in my office after I've filled Amelia in on the situation in hand.

"Poppy, if you'd do the honours," I say gesturing to Quirinus. She flashes me another look but duly revives the Stunned man.

"Wh-what h-happened?" the prone man squeaked after finding he couldn't move from his current position. "W-why am I h-here? W-why h-have y-you b-bound me?"

The look of utter panic in his eyes is quite impressive and even Amelia shoots me a nervous glance. It really does seem utterly absurd that this stuttering, trembling mess could be accused of attempted murder and Dark Magic, let alone harbouring the darkest wizard of all time. I look at Severus who steps forwards sharply.

"Four drops, straight on the tongue," Amelia states calmly. "Quirinus Quirrell, you are accused of attempting to murder an eleven year old boy by the means of Dark Magic. We will now administer the Veritaserum."

"B-but th-that's c-crazy!" the man shrieks, futily trying to twist away from Severus as he administers the Veritaserum with murder in his eyes. "W-why w-would I want t-to do th-that!?"

We watch as the potion seems to take effect and Severus nods in Amelia's direction.

"Would you please state your name as officially recorded?"

"Quirinus Quirrell."

The answer is in the monotone that we would expect from successful usage of Veritaserum, the only interesting thing to note is that his stutter seems to have completely vanished. Whatever else the man is, he is certainly a superb actor.

"Would you state your date of birth for the records?"

"26th September 1958."

Amelia looks to me and I nod that this is indeed correct.

"I verify that the Veritaserum has taken affect and trial questions will now be asked. As would be correct procedure during any trial, only one person will ask the questions in order to avoid confusing the accused. As Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I shall be asking the questions. Anyone who wishes to input a question can write it down and pass it to one of the Aurors, at which point I will decide whether it is a justified question. Anyone disregarding these rules will be forced to leave the room. Is that understood by all present?"

We all nod although Albus looks somewhat thunderous that as Head of the Wizengamot he was not elected to the role. I doubt he is fully aware of just how much Amelia knows of his dealings with Potter; she trusts the man about as much as we do now.

"Did you knowingly and wilfully attempt to kill Harry Potter?"

"Yes."

Poppy's gasp is heard by the entire room as she claps her hand over her mouth in horror. I can't blame her; it would never even enter her mind to hurt one of the many young charges in her care and for another member of staff to try is beyond her comprehension. I look over at Albus pointedly, noting with relish how pale and wan he has become.

"Why did you attempt to murder Harry Potter?"

Amelia's tone is still measured and calm, her questions clear and precise but I've known her too long not to see the sudden tightening of her shoulders. This is just as repellent to her as it is to Poppy, she just has long years of experience at hiding it.

"Because he is a threat to my Lord. He is the one who can defeat my Lord once and for all. The boy cannot be allowed to live. When I restore the Dark Lord's strength Potter will have to be exterminated."

There's a shocked silence for a moment with even Amelia staring down at Quirinus in horror before she gathers herself together.

"What is the name of your Lord?"

"The Dark Lord. The greatest wizard of all time."

I can see Amelia floundering; the one thing we hadn't warned her about what He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named not being fully destroyed. In the short period of time we had it would have sounded completely ludicrous and perhaps even meant she would have been unwilling to interview Quirinus. I quickly pass her a hastily scrawled note.

"Are you attempting to bring He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named back from the dead?"

"No."

She looks at me in confusion but I've spotted the error in her question immediately. The one flaw with Veritaserum is how specific you have to be, and one word in her question was incorrect. Whether or not the attempt to side step the question was deliberate, it allowed Quirinus the ability to answer perfectly truthfully but not to the spirit of the question. I pass another note across to Amelia who looks at me as if I've lost my mind.

"Is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named dead?"

"No. He was never fully destroyed."

"What form does He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named take?"

"He is a shade, a shadow of himself but he lives."

There's none of the usual rambling that you get from people under the influence of Veritaserum; Quirinus might be forced to answer the questions truthfully but he is able to exert a certain amount of influence over how much he says at least. From a professional standpoint it's quite impressive.

"So you are attempting to restore him to his former glory."

It says how rattled Amelia is starting to get from these revelations that she didn't phrase her query as a formal question and is met with silence. She shakes her head briefly before rephrasing.

"Are you attempting to restore He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to his former position as head of the Death Eaters and Dark Lord?"

"Yes."

It occurs to me that we really need a better way of referring to the megalomaniac psychopath who appears to want to kill us all. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is becoming an increasingly large mouthful every time we have to say or write it. I might start a petition campaigning for it to be changed to Lord Whatsit as megalomaniac psychopathic tyrant is also rather long winded.

"How did you plan to restore He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"Albus Dumbledore has the Philosopher's Stone hidden somewhere in the castle. The Elixir of Life would restore my Lord and give him eternal life."

Amelia sends a sharp look at Albus, probably just as unnerved as I was that Albus would think it perfectly acceptable to hide the Philosopher's Stone in a school full of teenagers. She takes a slightly shaky breath and I pass across another note. This time I've scrawled two questions for her. She scowls at me slightly but I just nod firmly. I have reasons for wanting them asked even if they seem unimportant. Luckily she trusts me.

"What stopped you from successfully killing Harry Potter?"

"Severus Snape was muttering the counter charm to my curse. He saved Harry Potter."

That ought to destroy any thoughts that perhaps Severus had been helping Quirinus. His association with the Death Eaters is well known and it would only be so long before someone pointed that out. In the mood Albus is in, I am unsure as to whether he'd actually protect his Death Eater spy now.

"Did you release a troll into Hogwarts on Halloween for the express purpose of obtaining the Philosopher's Stone with no regard to the safety of the students or staff?"

"Yes."

Amelia looks at me sharply and I shake my head. I haven't got any more questions for the moment and the Veritaserum will wear off shortly anyway. Further questioning will be done at the Ministry during a formal trial, this has just proven that one is very much needed.

"Administer the antidote."

Severus steps forwards again holding another small bottle of liquid and places another four drops on the man's tongue. The look of utter loathing Quirinus shoots him when he comes to surprises me somewhat.

"You should have killed me," he snarls at Severus.

"Take the prisoner away," Amelia orders her Aurors curtly. "Will everyone present please sign this document stating you witnessed that statement and accept that it is true and valid." She holds out a set of papers.

"The man is clearly insane," Albus states with a look of utter concern on his face. Another fantastic actor.

"That is something to be determined by a trained Healer from St. Mungo's, not you Albus." Amelia corrects him sharply. "If he is deemed to be mentally unsound then his statement will be viewed in that light. Please sign."

"I will testify to the attempted return of the Dark Lord," Severus says firmly, stepping forwards with a glare at Albus.

"As will I," I second as I stand to his left.

"And I," Filius agrees sharply. "Pomona will also if called to the stand."

Amelia looks at the three of us with something definitely akin to fear on her face. It might be stated that Quirinus has to be completely insane to state something so ludicrous and it is certainly true that Veritaserum will only make you say something you believe to be true, but they'd be hard pushed to denigrate us in such a manner. All four Heads of House standing to testify would be damning evidence indeed combined with Quirinus' statement.

"That is perhaps a conversation for another day," she says finally. "I think perhaps we ought to leave it there for today. The Ministry will supply a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher if you cannot locate a replacement, Albus."

"Certainly, Amelia," I say briskly. "If anything else is required of us please don't hesitate to let us know."

The room starts to clear as everyone leaves, but a slight motion from Amelia stops me and Severus in our tracks. We hover until the room is clear at which point Amelia closes the door by pointing at it and smiles for the first time since she got here. I quickly wave a precautionary Silencing Spell over the area as an additional precaution and raise an eyebrow at her.

"I think I've found a home for Mister Potter," she says.

"Good job he stayed on that broom then," Severus growls sarcastically, completely immune to the glare I send him.

"That's brilliant," I respond more appropriately. "With whom?


	20. A Place to Stay

**Chapter 20: A Place to Stay**

"Bathilda Bagshot," Amelia says finally, having made us wait impatiently first for the answer. She pauses expectantly as if waiting for an eruption.

Instead there is a moment of utter stunned silence as both myself and Severus attempt to process those two words. That certainly was not the answer I was expecting. I realise that my mouth is hanging open in a manner most unbecoming of a female and snap it shut hastily, glancing sideways at Severus half awaiting the cutting remark that is almost certain to come my way. However, Severus is just as shell-shocked as I am and doesn't even appear to notice the brief lapse of manners. Both of us simply stand in my quarters silently staring at Amelia, completely lost for words and unable to find our voices. Finally I manage to formulate a coherent phrase out of the racing, tangled confusion of my thoughts.

"Amelia," my voice seems far too high-pitched even to my own ears, "you are aware that the woman is well over a hundred years old!? She's actually older than Albus!"

My words seem to shake Severus out of his shocked reverie as well and his expression changes from something akin to stunned confusion back to the sneer that is more accustomed to sitting on his features. And in that split second something occurs to me. Something that has absolutely nothing to do with the Potter boy. I very much doubt that more than a handful of people have seen any expression on that man's face that Severus hasn't intentionally placed there for his old purposes. He is known as a cold, guarded man but I suspect it runs far deeper than that. Right from a childhood where of hiding the marks inflicted by his muggle father out of fear and shame, all the way through to his eventual 'career' spying on the world's most feared psychopath for a manipulative megalomaniac with a God complex; Severus has always had to hide behind his masks. In childhood he'd have feared the ridicule of the purebloods because he'd 'allowed' a muggle to hurt him so badly, in adulthood letting those masks slip could have meant his life, or worse, his mind.

But that's three times now that I've seen the real Severus Snape, the man that lies behind the cool tones and the automatic disdain for emotions. That's three times he's let me see the real man behind all the careful masks and facades; the one who can be afraid, uncertain, confused and out-of-his-depth. Four times if you count the explosion in Albus' office, but I suspect that was just sheer rage and impossible to hold back. But Severus is letting his guard down around me in a way I haven't seen before; over the years I've learnt to fence words with the man but there has always been the boundary between us that couldn't be breached. Somehow though, the dynamics of our relationship seem to have changed. Somewhere in the chaos of this year he began to trust me enough to let those masks fall, masks which have been held carefully in place for decades, masks that could be the difference between life and death.

"Not to mention a close childhood friend of Albus," he snarls venomously, his usual demeanour firmly back in place. "You would be placing him right back under the control of the man who left him to rot in the hands of those muggles for heaven's sake."

Amelia just stands and waits calmly, her expression not varying and a slight smile turning up the corners of her mouth. When Severus is done she merely raises her eyebrows slightly as if to question whether we are both quite finished yet before clearing her throat carefully.

"You are both of course, completely correct," she starts calmly, looking at both of us in turn with a look in her eyes that stops me from interrupting with any more objections. "However, both of those facts also work to our advantage."

"How is the fact that the guardian of one Harry Potter is sat squarely in Albus Dumbledore's pockets going to work to our advantage in any way, shape or form?" Severus spits out sharply, either missing or more likely completely ignoring the warning glint in the other woman's eyes. "You might as well just return him to the Dursley's tender loving care now for pity's sake. He'd be better off in the custody of the Malfoy's. At least they'd protect him from the old fool until the Dark Lords return so he could have a few years of relative comfort."

"I gave you the courtesy of hearing you out, Professor Snape," Amelia states coldly, standing straight-backed and proud as she looks at our Potions Master, refusing to be intimidated. "I would appreciate it if you would show me the same courtesy before leaping to conclusions blindly. It has taken a substantial amount of work to find a suitable placement for the child due to the multiple complicating factors involved in the case, including Mister Potter's fame and the need for discretion. If you have objections with the potential placement, then you will wait until after I have explained the reasoning behind the choice. You will also show me the respect I have earned or you will leave this room. I am no student to be bullied in your classes. Am I understood?"

There's another long awkward silence as the two keep eye contact, I can feel the tension building in the room as neither backs away. But in fairness Amelia has every right to be offended. We both jumped to our own conclusions without even giving her a chance to explain and Severus in particular was outright rude. That's not particularly exceptional given Severus' usual manner, but as Head of Magical Law Enforcement Amelia deserves respect in her own right. Under normal circumstances she may have little authority in Hogwarts but she certainly has more power than us in other respects. Finally, Severus lowers his eyes and steps back slightly; not far but enough to re-establish the power balance in the room. I breathe out a sigh of relief. Having those two powerful figures at loggerheads would not be a pleasurable experience for anyone; we already have enough problems with that gibbon, Fudge. And unfortunately Severus may not have the ear of the Ministry but he is still one of the most powerful wizards I know and has other less desirable contacts that could make life very difficult indeed.

"Right, now that is settled," Amelia continues in a slightly less cold, but still distinctly frosty tone, "as I said earlier, you are both completely correct. Bathilda is indeed one of Albus' oldest friends; she has known him since he was a child and watched him grow up. However this also means she knows him better than anyone still living with the possible exception of his brother, Aberforth."

She raises her eyebrows at both of us as if daring us to interrupt again, but we both stay silent and the other woman nods approvingly. I'm not sure where she's going with this, but it's clear there is some form of plan in the making that we haven't been brought into. It is however a well-known fact that Aberforth and Albus are certainly not on speaking terms anymore since some ruckus at a funeral if I remember rightly. I wonder what that means in relation to Bathilda.

"As you are more than aware there are by and large only two sides in the Wizarding world currently, one side are those who openly followed or tacitly supported He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's plans to preserve the blood purity of existing family's and the complete belief in blood superiority." She glances across to Severus but he doesn't move from his position, arms folded tightly and jaw clenched. "The other side are those who again either actively fought against or worked to the detriment of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in the last war. The problem we are left with is essentially that there are only two leaders and there are very few people left sitting in the middle."

"Albus and the Dark Lord," Severus breathes quietly. "You can't put the Boy-Who-Lived in the hands of a Death Eater or someone who might have potentially supported the Dark Lord as you'd be putting a death sentence on him. But the rest…"

"We went through all the possibilities," Amelia continues, but smiles slightly at Severus to take the sting from her interruption. "Some like the Malfoy's, Nott's, Zabini's and several other prominent pureblood families were removed from the candidate list immediately. They have wealth and influence but there are too many ties to other Death Eaters or uncertain politics and we cannot remove the boy from one abusive household only to throw him into a potentially worse fate."

Or risk having the child saviour of the Wizarding world turn dark I think rather uncharitably. Yes, the Malfoy and the Nott family were deeply enmeshed in the dark side of the war, but the Zabini family were never linked to any form of Death Eater activity. They've always stayed strictly neutral in the politics of the world, but it would not surprise me to find that they hold Dark Objects and don't necessarily stick to the lighter magic's. Some of this is about protecting the child yes, but just as much of it is pandering to the politics of the new society we live in. Prior to the devastation He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named caused, there was a far more tolerant viewing of the Dark Arts, they were even actively taught here at Hogwarts under the view that it was better to educate and regulate rather than ban. But the fear, pain and bloodshed that was caused by the use of Dark Arts in the last war put a stop to that, at least in public.

"However, the side of the light is no less extreme than the side of the dark," Amelia looks at me closely to see if I am likely to cause any problems. I nod at her to continue. "Albus is effectively just as dangerous as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and has a far larger following. In fact as has been seen so clearly during this last year, most people would follow him blindly without even questioning the reasoning why. He is seen as the Leader of the Light. That left me with a dilemma. I considered the Weasley family considering how close Mister Potter has become to the youngest Weasley boy, but they don't have the financial resources to take in another child and are exceptionally close to Albus and both too trusting to ever believe ill of him. The same is true for the majority of notable families. No matter where we put the boy, there would always be the potential for Albus to manipulate the situation. Nobody would question him."

Again, she's right. No matter where the young Potter is placed there will always be complications. The only exceptions would be to place him with one of the Heads of House, but I can't see that being fair on the boy. It's a strange fact of life that very few of the faculty here at Hogwarts ever marry and have children; the more cynical amongst us would suggest that's because we spend our entire lives around the young wizarding offspring and have more sense than to make the same mistakes. I'm not so sure. I think a large part of it is purely due to how demanding Hogwarts is; we simply don't have time for a family, the school comes first. On top of that, the grief the boy would get if he was suddenly living with his own Head of House would be immense and Severus is bad enough in class without having to deal with a child to care for; children are certainly not his forte. Pomona would just smother the boy and Filius…well, I don't know about Filius.

"Having dismissed the majority of the wizarding families, there were only really two potential options left. Considering the uproar that would be created had we attempted to get Mister Potter adopted into a muggle family, the only sensible option left were those who were close to his parents and therefore had stronger ties to him than to Albus." She looks at us seriously for a moment. "Sirius Black is his named Godfather, but for obvious reasons is not a potential candidate. Remus Lupin was exceptionally close to the Potter's and would fight tooth and nail for the boy, but the issue of his lycanthropy would have made formal adoption exceptionally difficult. The Longbottom family are another family who were exceptionally close to the Potter's, but it would be unfair to expect Augusta to take charge of another child, particularly considering the extent of the abuse…" I breathe a sigh of relief that I don't have to raise an objection there. Considering my recent confrontation with Augusta Longbottom, there would be no possibility of leaving the Potter boy with her even if she did accept. "…Bathilda however doted on Harry as a child and was on very good terms with his parents."

There's a long pregnant pause and I finally realise that Amelia has stopped to allow us to comment on her logic so far. I glance warningly at Severus, the last thing we need to do is offend her again considering it is clear just how much work has gone into attempting to find a suitable placement for Potter.

"But," I start hesitantly, "how is she likely to be any less influenced by Albus than the rest of the Wizarding world? She watched Albus grow up and hails him as a prodigy in all of her writings, it's clear she saw him as her protégé and was deeply proud of what he'd done. Surely she'll be even more likely to defer to the man than others who are less mired in the Dumbledore family history?"

I watch Amelia smile and breathe a sigh of relief that I've clearly approached the issue the correct way. She doesn't mind being disagreed with or even outright challenged about issues, it was the way we challenged her that raised the hackles. We didn't accord her the respect of an equal but instead both acted as if she were a student who had made a particularly foolish or dangerous suggestion in class.

"Before speaking to Bathilda, I'd have been in agreement with you," she concedes, "but it was worth taking the chance considering the past history between her and the Potter family, as well as the fact she has retained many of the ties she had in the past, both to friends and Mister Potter's birthplace. But what is more important is the fact that although she is still deeply impressed by Albus' power and what he has accomplished, she is far more aware than others that his background is not anywhere near as clean as he would perhaps like to portray."

I look at her curiously; Albus doesn't speak a vast amount about his years before Hogwarts unless it is specifically related to his schooling or any papers he wrote. But we all have things we don't wish to speak about, I know that just as well as any other, and so we have given him the privacy he clearly wishes. It has not been our part to pry.

"Those are his secrets to tell," I comment quietly, with a quick glance at Severus who has stayed far too quiet for my liking. "We all have skeletons lingering in closets that we'd prefer weren't brought out for public perusal."

"True indeed," Amelia agrees with a sharp nod. "Well said, Minerva. Suffice it to say that Bathilda was the great aunt of Gellert Grindelwald and there is far more history between those two wizards than is openly known in the public domain. Bathilda respects Albus for his power, his intelligence and his authority but she does not trust him and never will again. That I can promise you."

The message behind her words is clear; Bathilda knows what Albus is capable of, knows that Albus is not infallible and possibly more than that. She knows that behind that incredible brain and benign twinkle there is a man to fear; not because he is violent or actively dangerous but because he sees the rest of us as pawns in whatever grand scheme he has. She will always look for his motivations. And Albus doesn't realise; he will assume she is just an elderly woman who is in awe of him. He will believe himself free to continue his machinations, that Bathilda will follow him without question. It is, in fairness, a genius idea.

"How much does she know about Potter?" Severus asks, far more politely than his previous tone.

"Currently very little," Amelia answers and I can clearly see the relief in his dark eyes. "She has fostered other children from abusive families before, although not in recent years, so it wasn't too unusual that I came to speak to her. She is aware that there is significant abuse, although not the full extent of it, and she is aware that the secrecy is because we cannot afford this going to the Daily Prophet without significant planning. On that basis she does not know the identity of Mister Potter. I thought that was the wisest course of action, at least until I had spoken to both of you."

"Is she going to be capable of looking after an eleven year old boy at her age?" I repeat my concern from the start of this conversation.

"There may be some issues," Amelia concedes after a brief pause, "but Bathilda still has close ties with several families with similarly aged children and there has house elves who can do most of the running around. This will also be a temporary fostering to begin with so if there are any issues which can't be overcome they can be addressed quickly."

"Would it be possible for us to visit Bathilda?" I would like to see for myself that the boy will be going somewhere I can trust that he will be well cared for otherwise it might well come down to taking him on myself, reservations or not. "We can introduce Mister Potter to her if we consider the placement to be suitable based on first hand evidence then."

"Of course," Amelia says briskly, "that would be expected. Mister Potter is currently a ward of Hogwarts and cannot be removed from that guardianship without the four House Seals or the School Seal unless there is evidence that the guardianship is harmful to the child concerned."

Amelia certainly knows more about this than I do, although that I suppose is to be expected. It is exceptionally rare that one of my cubs has to be removed from their family even temporarily, on the few occasions we have had to take action it has usually been due to family illness or tragedy rather than neglect and abuse. The last war saw a significant increase in orphans but most cases were handled within the family like the case of Miss Bones and Mister Longbottom respectively. Severus has more cases where action has to be taken, but even then the complete removal of a child from their family is still exceptionally rare, particularly considering how reliant the pureblood families are on their heirs. We had a case with a young Ravenclaw muggleborn being taken out of an extremely violent household a couple of years ago, but that was largely handled by Filius and Albus.

The sound of my floo alarm ringing with the Ministry tone sends me striding across the floor to accept the incoming visitor, but I just about catch Severus' murmur that if Bathilda has cats then he'll be damned if the boy was to be cared by for another demented cat lady. I smile grimly, clearly Arabella Figg's incompetence hasn't been lost on him either.

A couple of seconds later a rather dishevelled Auror flies out of my floo followed by a St. Mungo's medic and it is impossible to miss the look of sheer relief on both of their faces when they spot Amelia. She on the other hand looks distinctly disgruntled to be so rudely interrupted, but quickly masks it with her usual professional mask.

"Auror Stonewall, report," she snaps out briskly.

"It's the prisoner, Madam Bones," the man says with a noticeable edge of panic to his voice that from the sharp looks Amelia and Severus send his way, wasn't lost on them either. The man in front of us isn't a seasoned Auror like Alastor Moody but he's no green recruit either. "There's something wrong."

The medic takes a step forward, clearly taking over.

"We'd appreciate it if you would be able to come with us, Madam Bones. We have discovered a significant…", he glances at myself and Severus uncomfortably, "…complication that needs to be addressed as soon as possible."

"Whatever you have to say can be reported in front of Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape," Amelia reassures the man curtly. "They were the ones who alerted the ministry that we were required and are to be trusted implicitly. What kind of complication? Is the prisoner going to be fit for trial?"

"Well," he hesitates as if unsure how to approach the issue, "there appears to be a case of long-term possession involved by an extremely dark entity. We believe that if we attempt to remove the entity then we may well kill…"

"Don't remove it!" Severus snaps fiercely, and I am probably the only one in the room to note the sudden panic in his dark eyes. "Bind it, restrain it, contain it, but whatever you do don't remove it!"

"But if the man is possessed then…" the medic starts, clearly insulted by Severus' tone.

"Whatever else you dunderheads want to do with that insult to the wizarding race, I could not give a flobberworms mucus," Severus interrupts in a snarl, stepping forward forcibly causing the other man to back up several paces. "But do not remove it! Get back in that floo and make sure they don't even try to remove it!" After several seconds where no-one moved, Severus gave a low, deep growl from the back of his throat and pushed the medic in the direction of the floo forcibly. "Well, what the hell are you waiting for man!? Are you hard of hearing or just exceptionally slow witted!?"

The medics face contorts slightly and he raises his wand slightly. I refrain from rolling my eyes in exasperation and step in between the two men before things can turn nasty and St. Mungo's are looking for a replacement medic.

"What my colleague means to say is that it would be extremely beneficial to the entire Wizarding world if you could stop any process of removing the entity until we are completely certain of its safety," I intercept calmly. "As quickly as possible please, Madam Bones will follow you through shortly."

He doesn't look particularly mollified by my words, but few who have been subjected to one of Severus' rants do. He tends to have that impression... The medic does lower his wand though and moves towards the floo, which in the circumstances is the most important factor. We hear a clear call of 'St. Mungo's, Ward 4' before he vanishes, quickly followed by the Auror after a sharp glance from Amelia his way.

I look back at Severus, fully intending to berate him for his previous outburst. However much as I can agree with his comments, his attitude was not helpful in the slightest. As soon as I see him though, my intentions turn to ash in my mouth. Severus is usually pale but is now almost milk white and the slight tremors passing through his body as he stares blankly at the floo scare me more than I thought possible. This is yet another new side that I have never seen of Severus. Moving swiftly, I grab one of his elbows and summon a chair from the side of the room. Despite my slight guidance the man falls more than sits down, clutching his head in shaking hands. Kneeling beside him, I glance up briefly to find Amelia's worried gaze looking down at us, catching my eye she mouths the words 'Poppy Pomfrey?' but I shake my head briskly.

"That possession is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Amelia," I say far more calmly than I actually feel. "While he's attached to Quirinus and bound, we're safe. If they remove it…" I falter, unsure of what to say next.

"If they remove it, the Dark Lord will return," Severus interrupts without looking up, but his usual smooth drawl is nowhere to be seen. He sounds almost shaky, something I never thought I'd see in the cool and composed Slytherin Head who always has a sharp comeback regardless of the circumstances. "It might not be this year, or next year or even in five years' time. But the Dark Lord will return."

It's only seeing him like this that I truly understand just how much he fears He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and how desperate he is to prevent his return. We all are, but only now do I really realise just how much more Severus has to lose than the rest of us. We will all have to fight yes, but Severus will be thrust back into the role as spy because of a decision he made as a teenager, a decision he has regretted for so many years now. Never fully trusted by the side he risks his life daily for and never able to pull down the masks he holds so well. I dread to think of what atrocities he has seen and even taken part in, how much blood is on his hands or how much guilt he feels. I don't think I would be able to bear it. In fact, I am certain I would not be able to bear it.

"You're serious, aren't you?" Amelia asks in a whisper. "What the prisoner said wasn't just madness talking? You're absolutely serious? He will come back?"

I'd been so focussed on Severus that I had almost forgotten that Amelia lost almost all of her family in the last war, the fear in her voice reminds me. She only has Susan left, everything else was wiped out. No wonder she's so frightened.

"I'm sorry, Amelia," I say with real compassion in my tone, even as I glance to Severus in concern. "We're serious. The threat to the Philosopher's Stone was real and if you can't keep that entity bound we will have another Wizarding War on our hands. And this time we don't have a defenceless baby to protect us. This time…we will lose."

I have to give the woman credit, she collects herself remarkably quickly and strides purposefully to the floo. She's still far paler than usual, but determination shines brightly in her eyes when she turns back to us.

"Well then, I will have to ensure that doesn't happen then, won't I?" She comments in a no-nonsense tone. "Until we can discover how to fully destroy this…thing, it will stay exactly where it is."

Once she's gone I focus fully on the man in front of me.

"Severus, is there anything I can do?"

There's no response from the still shuddering form on the chair and I put a hand gently on his shoulder, unsure of how else to respond.

"Minerva, I can't do it again." His voice is that of a broken child at the complete end of his limits and I instinctively tighten my hold on his shoulder slightly, trying to pass along what little reassurance I can. He doesn't pull away. "I can't do it again. I just can't."

I don't know what to say. What is there to say? What words of comfort can I give that won't sound demeaning or patronising? What is there to say to such a reticent, guarded man who is breaking in front of me?

He looks up at me and I'm horrified to see unshed tears gleaming softly in his eyes which look almost desperate. The strain shows clearly in his pale, angular face. He isn't just scared. He's terrified.

"Please. Don't make me. I can't."


	21. Sins of the Past

**Chapter 21: Sins of the Past**

**POTENTIAL TRIGGERS: REFERENCES TO DEATH EATER ACTIVITY - NOTHING IN DETAIL BUT TORTURE ETC ARE INCLUDED.**

"I can't do it again, Minerva," the man in front of me whispers brokenly again before losing eye contact. "I honestly cannot go through it again."

For the first time in more years than I care to count, I am utterly speechless. I don't have a clue how to respond to the broken, crippled man in front of me. I don't know what to say, I don't know how to act. This isn't something I can fix; it isn't even something I should be seeing. Severus is going to be furious with himself for having lost control of him so completely and in front of me. Regardless of the trust that has gradually built up between us over the last few months, he may never forgive me to seeing him like this.

But I can't leave him. I can't walk away from him when he so obviously needs someone there for him irrespective of whether he actually recognises that fact yet. Looking down at my hand as it rests on his thin shoulder which is still shaking under it, I can't help but see an image of Severus as a student at Hogwarts himself. Bright and ambitious with a quick wit and a marvellous way with words that constantly rubbed his classmates up the wrong way, particularly Black and Potter. The child all too quickly co-opted by the elder Malfoy into a world darker than he could ever have imagined. All that potential so easily wasted, all that ambition thrown into a cause that has shattered him. No matter what he has done over the years, nobody deserves that.

"Severus…I…" I start hesitantly, unsure of my footing. "It…"

"Don't!" he snarls almost viciously taking me by surprise at the ferocity in his tone. "Don't make promises you cannot keep, Minerva."

He twists abruptly, knocking my hand sharply off his shoulder as he stares fixedly in the opposite direction, refusing to allow me to see his expression. But the glimpse that I caught of his face as he turned wasn't angry or even superior, there was no supercilious sneer. No, what I saw for just a fraction of a second has shaken me more than I thought to be possible. He looked haunted and openly afraid; there was none of the usual projected arrogance that the man seems to carry as effortlessly as his own skin, instead he looks like a terrified child.

"Severus…" I try again knowing that I am helplessly out of my depth. I am used to counselling homesick firsties, overwhelmed seventh years or 'heartbroken' teenagers; men who have seen more horror than I could even begin to imagine are not within my repertoire. This is beyond my experience and I simply don't even know where to begin.

"Do you have any idea what I have seen, Minerva?" he growls, still refusing to look at me, refusing to meet my eyes. "Do you have any idea what I have done?"

He stands abruptly and strides forcefully across the room, his back to me but his hands clenched tightly at his sides and I don't think I'm imagining the slight shake to them. No. I don't know what you've been through, Severus. Even my attempts at guessing would be woefully inaccurate, could never even begin to delve into the depths of the horror you have both seen and been a part of. The question is, do I want to? Is that something I want to find out? Is that something I can cope with?

"You should save your pity for someone who actually deserves it," he spits out in the same harsh tone as before, but I can't move. Even if I don't want to hear, I can't seem to make my feet move from the carpet. "I certainly do not deserve either your empathy or your pity.

"I have tortured children slowly whilst their parents are forced to watch them screaming in agony. I tortured them either for information that they are refusing to hand over or simply don't know or merely for the Dark Lord's entertainment. I have concocted potions that cause agony to such a degree that even the Cruciatus Curse feels like a mild tickle in comparison, never killing you, never giving you the sanctity of death. I have modified poisons that keep victims alive for years long after they would have willingly given up, forcing them to suffer daily torments whilst the only hope of death continually eludes them, suicide never an option, that freedom constantly denied them."

Finally he looks back up at me and the look in his eyes is frightening. It's haunted, lost, doomed. A man who knows he has no future. I don't know what he sees in my expression, whether he can read the horror and revulsion in my eyes or see how badly the horrendous images that are now running around my mind are affecting me. Part of me already knew this; you don't get marked with the Dark Mark for handing out kittens and rainbows of happiness, but more of me never wanted to look at a young man I have taught and truly see the horrors he has perpetuated. Never wanted to see the real darkness lying behind the colleague I have come to respect and trust.

I put a hand out to steady myself on the chair next to me. How many of those I loved have been taken by Death Eaters? How many of the children I taught and watched grow over the years have been subject to the torments that Severus describes so matter of factly? How many have died by Severus' own hand? And how many by the potions he freely admits having created and handed over to his 'Master' and 'Lord'? How much suffering has he caused? I close my eyes, but that doesn't help when the images in my mind are my own imagination.

"I have watched other Death Eaters rape and maim women, some of them little more than children, purely for their own entertainment but always in the name of the Dark Lord. I have watched wives defiled in front of their husbands, children violated in front of their parents. I have watched their pain, heard their cries of anguish and I have done nothing. I have reported this back to Albus and yet done nothing. I have more blood on my hands than you can even hope to comprehend. How could you? That isn't a world which would ever have tempted you slightly, it isn't a madness you could ever descend to. No matter what I do now, no matter how much I may try there is nothing I can do to wash away the sins of my past. I can never do enough to wipe that slate clean. If the Dark Lord returns I will be forced to go back to him. There is no doubt of that. Only Albus' word kept me out of Azkaban last time, without it I have nothing. I will have to go through it all over again, never being able to fight against it."

"Severus…" For the second time in this conversation I am utterly lost for words. What can I say? It is not within my power to absolve him for the sins of his past. It never was. What he's just admitted is horrifying to witness, and the candour and frankness with which he has admitted it is even more so. But saying nothing is potentially worse than at least acknowledging his words, trying to put some context into it somehow. "Severus, you were eighteen…barely more than a child yourself…"

"Yes, I was eighteen," he snaps furiously, dark eyes flashing with such forceful self-loathing that I have to stop myself taking a step backwards. "I was eighteen. So was James Potter. So was Lily. And what were they doing? They were fighting with all their resources to protect the world they lived in, the world they loved despite having a child to care for. Even Potter, that self-righteous, arrogant, egotistical ignoramus was doing something worthwhile."

He starts pacing across the room in clear and obvious agitation. This is the only time I have ever heard Severus speak of his time as a Death eater unless it was to formally report at Order meetings; he must be distressed beyond belief to be confiding this to me now.

"But that wasn't enough for me, was it? I wanted power, influence and authority. I wanted respect and the ability to ensure that nobody could ever harm me again. I wanted the ability to defend myself but more than that, the ability to hurt anyone who tried in ways unimaginable and immeasurable. I would be respected, feared, obeyed."

He stops; looking directly at me and when he speaks next his tone is no more than a whisper so I have to strain to catch what is being said.

"And I succeeded. Where so many others failed, I succeeded. I became one of the inner circle, one of the right hand lieutenants to the Dark Lord. I became one of the trusted, as far as the Dark Lord is able to trust. I was one of the select few. By the time I made that final mistake, it was far too late to turn back. Maybe it always had been. The Dark Lord is not forgiving of betrayal."

The sheer pain in his voice takes my breath away as I look at the man in front of me who has made such colossal errors with such far reaching implications to so many people.

"But you did turn back, Severus," I say gently, refusing to flinch away at the sheer self-loathing shining so clearly in those dark, hooded eyes or the self-hatred written all the way across his face. "You showed more bravery than any single one of us when you turned back and switched sides. You could have done so openly and effectively signed your immediate death warrant, but you didn't. You didn't take the easy way out. You gave us something we could never have gained otherwise. At significant risk to your own life you stayed in a cause you had abandoned and gave us the information we so desperately needed, information that gave us an edge we desperately needed. You stayed, despite the atrocities you wouldn't only have to witness but also be a part in. You stayed despite the obvious wariness of the side you had just joined. You earned every single grain of trust you gained with tooth, nail and claw."

I don't look away from the man as I speak, willing my words to strike home. I need him to see the truth in my eyes, the conviction in my voice. Despite my utter revulsion for the acts he has just described, my complete horror that anyone could commit such atrocities, I still trust the man. I respect him and he has to hear that.

I saw too many corpses of those killed and defiled in the last war and even afterwards. We rescued hostages, often from Severus' information. We rescued so many already driven completely insane by the torture and horror inflicted upon them, too lost in the darkness and chaos of their own minds to even comprehend the magnitude of what they have lost. I have friends and family either destroyed by the acts committed upon them by men like the one stood in front of me now. I have attempted to comfort those who were too afraid to speak, too violated to trust even their old Head of House. I know exactly what the Death Eaters are capable of, how much hurt and devastation they caused in the name of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I know this and I still trust Severus. I still respect him.

He has made so many mistakes. So many horrifically bad choices. But that was ten years ago and nothing he does now can ever change that. He is right; he can never atone for the choices he made. He made the active choice to ally himself to one of the greatest tyrannical and psychopathic maniacs of all time. He chose to be marked, to follow and become part of a wave of atrocities that can never truly be forgiven. No matter what excuses I try to think of, I have to admit that he made that choice freely and willingly. He wasn't pushed into it, he wasn't coerced or forced. He wanted power and he chose that route to get it. His past may be part of it, but that cannot excuse him.

But I can also see what that decision, that choice has done to him. I can see how much his actions haunt him even after a decade. I can't imagine what it must be like to live with that kind of guilt, the knowledge that this was brought upon by himself. And despite everything, he made that choice as a badly scarred teenager, hurt and afraid, lashing out at the world which had hurt him so badly. He made that appalling choice as an angry young man determined that no one would ever hurt him again, adamant that no one could ever have that kind of power over him again. He wanted to be invincible, invulnerable, untouchable. He needed to be bigger than his father, stronger than James Potter, smarter than Lily. But instead put himself completely in thrall to a master who ended up being worse than all three and completely crazy to boot.

"But I was too late," Severus snarls ferally, stalking forwards with such presence and hatred rolling off him that it takes all my willpower not to retreat in the face of it. The portraits in the room have started to shake forcing their disgruntled occupants out of their frames and I suddenly realise just how close Severus is to completely losing control and just how dangerous that could be. "I begged Albus. I practically crawled at his feet and I was still too late. He couldn't save her…them. She wouldn't have wanted to live without him. I was too late."

Suddenly as if from nowhere the power and rage seem to leave him is a sudden rush and he almost collapses against the wall he's standing by. The cold, forceful and unmistakably deadly persona from a second ago has disappeared and has been replaced by the lost teenager from what seems like eons ago. It's as if all the energy, rage and vigour has left him. He looks lost, helpless and completely alone. It almost reminds me of the night over a decade ago when he realised Black wouldn't get expelled for his apparent attempt on Severus' life; betrayed and deserted by a man he had trusted to protect him. But watching as he starts to tremble slightly, eyes closed and hands almost limp as he leans on the wall I realise that's not quite accurate. Suddenly I recall the last time I saw him like this.

From the depths of my mind I find and drag forth a memory nearly a decade and a half old, a memory I thought long lost to time. I remember a young Severus Snape sat in my Transfigurations class gazing listlessly down at him textbook, not even bothering to glance in my direction as I gave the class instructions. A young Severus Snape, quill held listlessly in his hand instead of taking notes, none of the usual vigour and need to outperform his rival but glancing periodically across the room at a young muggleborn witch. At Lily Evans. A young Severus Snape standing slowly at the end of a class I doubt he heard a word of, walking towards that desk, hands now clenched so tightly it must have been painful. A thin, pale, almost pitiful figure as he stood there, waiting to be noticed, waiting to be acknowledged by the Gryffindor muggleborn.

I remember standing, watching from my desk as the class filed out and thinking how strange this scene seemed. How odd that Mister Snape, usually so vocal in his hatred against both Gryffindors and muggles, was standing at that desk so meekly. He seemed almost subservient and there was no sign of Malfoy or any of the usual suspects around. I remember watching more closely, certain that this must be the start of some sort of elaborate prank, getting ready to intervene if required. If I hadn't been watching I probably wouldn't have noticed and I almost certainly wouldn't recall how Lily's bright emerald eyes simply passing over the scrawny Slytherin boy as if he didn't exist. For a fraction of a second it looked as though the youngster was ready to grab her, his posture screamed the need to do something, the need to act so I stepped forward slightly. But as if he wasn't there Lily stood up, still refusing to acknowledge his presence in any way, shape or form as she chatted to brightly to her friends. It was as if the Slytherin simply didn't exist.

And as I watched the boy suddenly seemed to sag against the table, much as Severus has against the wall, as if his own legs would no longer support his weight. A Gryffindor refusing to acknowledge a Slytherin student certainly wasn't all that unusual given the House rivalries, but the boy's reaction to the dismissal certainly was. He wasn't facing towards me so I couldn't see where his attention was, but I was certain that he watched her all the way out of the room. He stayed in that exact position long after the last student had left the room and I was approaching the point of asking him if he needed me to fetch someone for him just as he turned around. It's the look on his face when I could finally see it that I recognise. That's what I'm seeing now.

That young face so deathly pale, clenched in on himself with eyes so full of self-loathing and despair that I could barely keep eye contact. Eyes so filled with helpless hopelessness, arms wrapped so desperately hard around his thin figure so pitifully. The pain in his face was so blatantly obvious that it actually hurt to look at him, the loneliness so apparent and noticeable it near took my breath away. The sense that he had lost something precious and irreplaceable was transparent in the way his eyes never left the spot where Lily had just walked out of the classroom. And that whisper that I honestly thought I must have imagined; "Lily. I'm sorry." It was the look of utter desolation and that is what I am seeing now. And somehow I make the connection.

"Lily," I say softly, watching closely as his head jolts up and his eyes lock onto mine. Eyes filled with that exact same anguish over a decade later. "It was Lily. You were too late to save Lily. But to be so desperate to save her…" I follow my train of thought through logically despite it being a completely wild guess. "…you had to know. You had to have been the one who turned them over…"

I'd never have believed it if it weren't for the look on Severus' face. I'd been stabbing in the dark but the way what little colour was left in the man's face seems to drain out leaving him completely white and the look of utter shame and guilty says more than any words could have ever hoped to.

All of the anguish I felt that day ten years ago comes crashing back in an almost overwhelming wave that threatens to overpower me. That feeling that whilst the entire wizarding world was rejoicing in the downfall of a man who had tyrannised them for years, I had lost two people who were truly precious to me and couldn't share this with anyone. Everyone was celebrating, the festivities were ongoing and yet I couldn't join them without thinking of the two young lives sacrificed for them. I couldn't share the knowledge that I had forever lost something precious to me and that nothing could ever bring them back.

"You killed them…" I manage in barely a whisper. Somehow, despite everything else the man has admitted this afternoon, this strikes me harder than anything else. "You killed them…"

"The prophecy," Severus says wearily. "I heard the prophecy. I never thought…" He stops looking down at the floor for a long moment before brokenly whispering. "I begged Albus…"

The utter silence that follows Severus' announcement seems to grow and infiltrate every part of the room, it is as if neither of us even dare breathe. Finally his eyes come back up from the floor and I can see the emotions raging behind them. The guilt that he has lived with every day for the last ten years, the pain that can never leave him and I make the second connection. The important connection.

"The doe," I breathe out looking into those haunted eyes. "Oh, Severus…"

And suddenly I understand. I understand and it's heart-breaking.

The call of an incoming Ministry floo means that Severus doesn't get a chance to respond as I turn as Amelia steps back out of my floo.

"I have dealt with Quirinus and Bathilda is free now if you would like to visit," she says curtly, but freezes as she sees the expression on Severus' face, "If this is a good time of course."

"Certainly, Amelia," I respond. I don't think I want to hear Severus' reaction to my last comment. The man doesn't do pity. "We'll follow you through."


	22. The Eccentricities of Age

**Chapter 22: The Eccentricities of Age**

I step through the floo without a second look at Severus. For the moment I simply don't think I can bear to see that look on his face again, as it is I don't think I will ever forget it. I want to be angry at him, I want to feel betrayed and furious; I finally know the reason Lily and James died, the reason Harry is an orphan. After all these years I know why. It wasn't just Black, although he'll rot in Azkaban for the rest of his miserable life for his heinous betrayal of his best friends, his utter treachery against two people who trusted him with their lives. Without Severus none of it would have happened in the first place and I want to be able to rage against him. But I can't. That expression of utter helpless loss on his face is etched too firmly on my mind. I don't think anyone can hate him more than he hates himself already.

I hear the rush of the floo behind me heralding Severus' arrival as I look carefully around the room I've been floo'd into. Darkly furnished in what strikes me as an old fashioned style but immaculately kept with no signs of wear or tear anywhere easily seen at least. Photographs hung around the room showed what looked to be family members of Bathilda at various different functions, but those weren't the photos that immediately caught my eyes. No, the pictures that caught my eye were the ones kept in the prime position on top of the dark mahogany writing desk sat at the centre of the far wall are pictures of Lily and James holding an emerald eyed babe, pride clearly shining from both of them as they look down at the small child in their arms. Glancing across the desk I can't help but be shocked by the sheer volume of pictures depicting Harry as a toddler, some with his parents others of Bathilda herself holding him or playing with him. It's clear the child was just as besotted with her as she was with him.

"Ah, both the Head Snake and Lion are here to vet me I see," the sharp voice cracks out from the doorway and both myself and Severus turn to see Bathilda watching us with a keen look of discernment in her eyes. It's been many years since I last saw the witch and the effects of age are clearly noticeable from the cane that she carries with her although there is no sign of the heavy leaning that tends to accompany the infirm. "That means it must be a young Slytherin or Gryffindor who is causing all this fuss and I can't think of many of those who would require this amount of secrecy surrounding their placement."

I'd swear that I saw a brief smirk turn the corner of her mouth up, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. The glint in her eyes however cannot be ignored. This is clearly not a woman to be underestimated. Old she may be, older even than Albus, but age has certainly not diminished her capacities nor her intelligence. It would be foolish in the extreme to underestimate the aged witch in front of us; she may not have the magical power that I or Severus can boast of but she is certainly not to be underestimated.

"The only reasons I can think of," the older witch continues mercilessly, "would be either fame or power. That narrows the list of potential candidates significantly I would suggest and although it is not necessarily only the first years who require new placements to be found, that is usually when serious issues with home life are picked up by the Hogwarts staff. The two obvious candidates from this year's crop of first years would have to be a Malfoy or a Potter."

There was a long moments silent as she simply stared at us, interest shining brightly in her eyes. She had clearly done her homework before we arrived and the message behind the silence was clear; she is very openly challenging us to dispute her words and of course none of us could. Well, we could, but to do so we would have to outright lie to her and I don't think any of us were willing to do that. If she was the most suitable placement for the Potter boy then we'd have to trust her. I'd certainly lost any fears that her brain might be affected by age leaving her unable to adequately care for an eleven year old child; she is just as sharp now as when she used to teach History of Magic at Hogwarts all those years ago.

"It's good to see age hasn't dulled your wits, Bathilda," Severus drawled slowly watching with obvious amusement at the look of irritation that passed the elder woman's face. "But the effects of time can take us all in different ways after all."

The glance that he sends at her dark wood cane is unmistakable and once again there is a distinct flash of irritation in the elder woman's eyes as she gazes at the much younger wizard in front of her although it is quickly masked.

"That is something you will have to look forward to yourself in time, Severus," she remarks coldly, eyes fixed on him. "You of all people should be able to value the opportunity to grow old."

She turns to me, seemingly dismissing Severus out of hand now that she's said her piece and I note the slight tightening of his jaw at the clear slight. Severus is not accustomed to being disregarded in such a fashion.

"So?" She continued, her sharp gaze never leaving my own. "Which one is it then? My money's on the Potter child. There aren't too many others who fit the criteria."

So much for discretion and secrecy I think wryly.

"I can't see there being many where I'd be considered as a potential guardian either," Bathilda's gaze locked on to mine, refusing to let me look away. "Old enough to be the child's great grandparent? I'd wager you'd have had a few choice remarks of your own to make if it is indeed one of your cubs, Minerva."

"I did indeed, Bathilda," I incline my head slightly in acquiescence. "You must understand our reticence, however. It has been many a year since you've had children around your house and all our bones have started creaking with age; I include myself in that as much as anyone else. I am not sure that I would be all too willing to be taking on an eleven year old at my age, much less one with significant difficulties. Are you sure that you're up to it?"

"If I wasn't do you really think I'd have agreed to this charade, Minerva?" The words were spoken quietly but surely, leaving me with no doubt that Bathilda was at least sure of her ground. The only thing left to decide is whether I am. "I've still got more than a few tricks up my sleeves and it will be the other side of the afterlife before I let an eleven year old boy get the better of me."

"It's not just whether you're physically fit enough to handle a child," I speak slowly, looking directly at the elderly witch in front of me. "Or even whether you still have the mental capacity. There are so many complicating factors that we also need to take into account."

"Complicating factors such as the boy's name?"

Halfway through nodding at the astute comment, I realised that I'd already at least partially unwittingly confirmed Bathilda's suspicions regarding her potential ward's identity. She now knew for certainty that the child under discussion is male and the fact that I'd taken the lead would strongly cement the belief that he's one of my boy's. And to think that we'd had concerns regarding her mental capacity. She'd run rings around me without me realising before it was too late.

Give the woman her due though; there was no sign of mockery or condescension in her gaze. The only sign that I'd fallen straight into her word trap was a slight smirk before she turned and walked across to the writing desk with the photo's I'd noticed on entering the room. I watch silently as she picks up a photo of what looks to be Potter's first birthday, the child balanced on her knee as Lily watches his small fingers struggling with wrapping paper proudly on the side. Handing it to me silently she picked up another photo of the child with his arms wrapped around her neck, adoration shining clearly in those young eyes as a decade younger Bathilda carries him.

"It is Harry, isn't it?"

The words could have been aggressive, pushing her obvious advantage after my slip, but they weren't. Her voice was soft as she looked down on the photo in her hands and if anything there's an edge of pleading to her tone. Looking at the photo in my hands again the obvious love shared by this old woman and the child on her knee is heart-breaking.

"Do you know how many times I wondered what had happened to him? How many times I tried to locate the boy?" Her voice is just as soft as before but the edge of emotion suddenly so much more noticeable. Her eyes flick back to mine with no challenge in them, just that same plea to know. "I asked Albus countless times. I begged Albus to tell me so that I could visit. I even offered to wear one of those vile fur lined coats the muggle's were so fascinated with. He always said the child was in the safest of hands possible and I'd only be endangering him by visiting. He told me Harry was in loving hands, that he was with his only surviving family and anything I did would only harm him. "

Looking at her I see the same guilt that I myself have felt ever since we found out exactly what was going on. But more than that, there's genuine confusion and very real hurt. I find my voice stuck in my throat as I realise just how much she loved Harry Potter. When Albus left the young Harry Potter with those damnable muggles he didn't just cut him off from the magical world, but also from the one person who'd have been able to love him for the child he was not the legend he had become.

"He promised me." Her grey eyes locked with mine. "He promised me that Harry was safe and as the years went by I became convinced he was right. After all, surely we'd know if something had happened to the Boy-Who-Lived." I can see pain and betrayal in her face as clearly as I can hear it in her voice. As clearly as I can hear the guilt and the shame. "Should I have pushed him further, Minerva? Should I have done more?"

"We all should have done more, Bathilda," I say gently looking down, ignoring the hiss of disapproval Severus gives. "We all should have done more."

"Is your floo open, Minerva?"

The sudden sharpness to her tone shocks me almost as much as the change in discussion. Looking back at her though, it isn't difficult to find the cause. Anger and hatred are flashing openly in those steely eyes and it's almost as if decades have fallen away from her in the space of a couple of seconds.

"It's open," Severus remarks smoothly as I stare at Bathilda as if I'd never seen her before. "Before I move out of your way however, I'd appreciate you explaining exactly why you wish to have access."

"I don't see my reasons being any of your business," she responds coldly. "May I enter Hogwarts using your floo, Minerva?"

Bathilda notices Severus' careful repositioning against the entrance to the fireplace at the same time as I do, and fury once more lights her eyes.

"I don't require you to move, young man," she snaps acidly. "I am more than capable of moving you forcibly if required."

Both myself and Amelia stand as if stunned as the century old witch stands, wand in hand, facing off one of the most powerful young wizards of this century without a flicker of uncertainty. There's no doubt in my mind who'll win if this does come down to a duel and I'm suddenly fumbling for my wand to intervene. Severus is already close enough to the brink without pushing him any further and I move forwards to stand between the two potential duellists.

To my absolute shock though, my actions were completely unrequired as Severus steps neatly away from the fireplace with a flourish as his robes sweep around him. There's a strange half smile on his face and he nods gracefully in Bathilda's direction, his eyes never leaving hers. What passes between them none but the two of them can know.

"Be my guest," his drawl is steeped in an almost morbid amusement, his eyes flashing fiercely. "Do let us watch though."

"Keep up then." Bathilda snaps as she steps forwards towards the fire. "You might be a rude young man but you can at least make yourself useful."

With that she steps into the fireplace clearly calling "Deputy Headmistress's Office, Hogwarts" as she does so. Seconds later a silvery doe shoots from Severus' wand before shooting off as Severus steps towards the fireplace.

"Severus," I call. "What on earth is going on? Why did you just stand aside?"

"Oh, you don't want to miss this show, Minerva," he drawls smoothly. "I take it the old hag still knows the way to Albus' office?"

"Well, yes, I'd presume so…" I stutter. "Severus, would you care to explain?"

"I have no intention of missing this, Minerva. I'll explain on the way."

With that he calls out my office and has vanished.

I exchange a brief glance with Amelia before stepping towards the fireplace. Something passed between those two and it now wouldn't surprise me to learn that Bathilda is a legilimens. Whatever it was seems to have impressed Severus and that takes some doing.

He's right. I don't think I want to miss this show.


	23. The One True Weapon

**Chapter 23: The One True Weapon**

I step through the floo and into my office just in time to see the back of Severus's robes as they whip out of the door. Cursing silently, I follow his rapid footsteps out of the room wondering why it would have been so inconvenient for the man to actually explain to me what was going on. It clearly has something to do with Albus, and if the wrath in the old witches eyes was any indication then this could be a firestorm not worth missing. Severus' haste only goes to further prove that fact. Without conscious thought I find myself recollecting Amelia's words earlier on; that Bathilda respects Albus for his power but she 'does not trust him and never will again'. What on earth did the other witch know about Albus that we didn't? And what did it have to do with Grindelwald? I know of their childhood friendship, but something more than that must be lying under the surface.

There isn't much time to ponder the matter further however as Severus has already vanished out of sight down the corridor. Bathilda is also nowhere to be seen which surprises me more than the speed Severus has moved; she clearly isn't as reliant on that cane as outwardly portrayed. She's certainly quick enough on her feet. Turning the next corner I catch sight of both Severus and Bathilda heading up a nearby set of stairs, Bathilda clearly in the lead. I had no cause for concern about her becoming lost after all this time, although I suppose it's only natural that the author of _Hogwarts: A History_ should know the place like the back of her hand. She's certainly taking the most efficient route to the Headmaster's Office.

I quicken my steps in order to catch up with them before they reach the gargoyle that guards Albus' tower. My pace brings me close enough to them to overhear some of their conversation as they approach the gargoyle.

"You need the password to get in you foolish old woman!" There's more than a hint of utter exasperation in Severus' tone and I would guess that he's being trying to convince Bathilda of this for a while. "Have you not listened to a single word I've said?"

"I have my ways," her voice is curt and dismissive. I'd give almost anything to see the expression on Severus' face at this moment in time.

Severus subsides into muttering which I can't quite make out although I'd bet my last galleon on there being more than a few expletives involved. My suspicion is quickly validated.

"You're not too old to have your mouth washed out with a Scourify charm, young man," the biting tones of Bathilda drifted back clearly down the hallway causing the few passing students to stop and stare in complete astonishment. This old woman couldn't be talking to their feared Head of Slytherin could she? No, it must be someone else she was referring to. One of the Slytherin seventh years must have made eye contact with his Head of House as the youngster suddenly seemed to find a random patch on the wall absolutely fascinating. "I doubt you'd sit still long enough for good old fashioned soap and water…"

The recitation of the ways in which to teach young men decent manners continues all the way to the gargoyle. I have to admit I learned some new techniques myself, although I fear the first person to try any of them on Severus may learn some interesting rebuttals they'd prefer never knowing. The Weasley twins though are a completely different matter.

Bathilda's voice trails off as we approach the gargoyle though and there's a long moment of silence as we stand in front of the ugly stone creature. As the silence seems to stretch uncomfortably, Severus loses patience and makes a move forwards.

"No, let me."

The change in Bathilda's voice makes me turn to her. It's still firm but instead of the almost imperial lecturing tone she speaks softly as she looks both me and Severus in the eyes. I'm shocked at the pain and anguish I can see in hers. Putting her hands on the gargoyle's head softly she stands silently for a second before speaking. Finally she says a single word so quietly I barely catch it, a single word and I watch in amazement as the gargoyle creaks slowly to the side on the forth syllable. I know that's not Albus' password. Albus' weakness of confectionary passwords has long been a staple in all of our lives. That wasn't a password. No, that was something infinitely more powerful than a mere password. That was something I can't explain.

"How in the name of Merlin did you do that!?" I turn in surprise at the sound of Filius' voice behind me. "Severus' house elf fetched me," he replied to my unspoken query. That reminds me of the Patronus Severus sent. Who in Merlin's name did he send that to then? "But Minerva, that's not the password!"

"I am more than aware of that Professor…Flitwick I presume," Bathilda says softly, looking down at our Charms Master almost wearily. "I'd hoped I'd never have to do that."

Filius looks ready to ask a dozen more questions but Bathilda has already started up the stairs to Albus' office. I can't blame him. That old woman has apparently just bypassed some of the strongest wards in the castle, set by one of the greatest wizards of this century without even trying. With one word. Not even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would have been able to manage that in his prime. And one old woman managed it. A single word. How?

We all halt briefly at the top of the stairs and Bathilda stares at the heavy wood door for a long moment. Then she seems to come to a decision and pushes open the door without knocking, almost in an exact, unconscious mimicry of my own actions all those months ago when I stood outside this door with Severus, Filius and Pomona. Months that somehow seem like years. Unlike all those months ago any thought that Albus might be expecting visitors is quickly dispelled by the look of utter astonishment that takes over his face as we walk in.

I've seen many expressions on Albus' face over the years I've worked with him. The complete shock and surprise that flashes over him now is a new one to me. He gains control of his face quickly though and seems to quickly assess who has interrupted him before focussing his attention on Severus and myself.

"Apparently my alarm systems have failed," he's almost genially. "Please forgive me, I didn't know you were coming up."

That's interesting. Apparently that one word did more than just allow entry to Albus' office. It did it without notifying him as a password usually would. If I hadn't seen it happen, I wouldn't believe it.

"That was intentional, Albus," Bathilda's voice cuts across the room, sharp as a whip, forcing all attention back to her. The smile on Albus' face becomes very strained. "You forget, some guilt's run deeper than words alone can express."

"Bathilda, what a pleasure," Albus greets her as if he'd only just noticed that she'd come in with us. My eyebrows raise involuntarily. I know for certain he noticed her the moment she walked through that door. "It's been many a year since you visited Hogwarts. What do I owe…"

"The boy is safe, you said." As Bathilda spits the words vehemently at Albus, there's no mistaking the anger flashing in her eyes, nor the power building up around her in waves and bursts. She may not be as powerful as Severus or myself, but she is most certainly not to be ignored. The strength in those fluctuating bursts surprising. "He's with a loving family, you said. I'd only put him in danger from Voldemort's followers, you said. What could I offer him that his family couldn't, you asked. What could an old woman do?"

There's a moment silence and for a second it looks like Albus is about to attempt to respond, but Bathilda cuts him off with a harsh wave of her hand and a glare that could cut ice. His mouth shuts sharply and as I watch he almost steps backwards in response. All of us present in the room watch in amazement. I don't think we've ever seen anyone silence Albus so effectively or effortlessly for that matter. What power does this woman have? What does she know?

"What can one old woman do you asked?" The mockery in her tone is unmistakable as it seeps through every word. But the pain seeps through as well; this is an anger born of real anguish. A fury born of experience. "What can one old woman do?"

It also doesn't escape my notice that all of the portraits in the room are actually paying close attention to what's happening in front of them. Usually nearly half of them are asleep or at least pretending to be, but now even Nigellus Black is sat up and watching with interest. From all accounts he was difficult to impress when he was alive and his I can certainly testify that temperament hasn't overly improved as a painting. Without warning two of the previous incumbents of this office, Amrose Swott and Walter Aragon, both step out of their portraits appearing shortly afterwards with other long-standing portrait figures throughout Hogwarts. News of this confrontation was clearly going to travel fast. It's alarming though. Usually these portraits are among the most reserved and circumspect of the portraits. Something has rattled their cages.

"What can one old woman, well past her prime do, Albus?" Bathilda continues harshly, drawing my attention back to her. "How about love him, Albus? What about love?" Her voice rises sharply with each word, not quite yelling but actively uncomfortable to listen to. "Isn't that the most important weapon of all, Albus? Isn't that what you said? Love? Couldn't one old woman have been permitted to love the child? Wouldn't that have been enough?"

I find myself looking down at the carpet in an attempt to escape the sheer emotion leaking out of Bathilda's tone. Looking down I realise that I never put down the photograph Bathilda handed me in her living room, it's still clutched tightly in my hand. My attention had been so focussed on keeping up with Bathilda and Severus, somehow I hadn't even realised I'd been carrying it this whole time. Without thinking I start to move across the room causing Bathilda to falter in her tirade for a second. I must admit I feel every one of my years as I lock eyes with the older man, meeting his bright blue eyes steadily and hold the photo out to him silently.

"Harry's first birthday," I say softly, refusing to look away from those eyes, eyes that seem like they can see into my very soul. I hold it in an outstretched palm, daring Albus to take it from me, willing him to accept it, needing him to understand. His eyes are as sad as I've ever seen them as he looks down at the absolute adoration shining in the child's face; a far cry from the lost and hurting child who he arrived at Hogwarts. "A first birthday surrounded with family and loved ones, Albus. The only real birthday you ever allowed that child to have."

"I loved him, Albus." The sharp tone and harsh words can't hide the real and true anguish behind her words. "I loved him like he was my own son, my own flesh and blood. I loved him as much as I loved Lily. That never changed. I loved him. You took him away from me. You kept him away from me. Where would he have been safer Albus? Where would he have been more loved?"

If I hadn't been listening so carefully to the elderly woman, I might have missed the faint catch in her voice it was so faint. But it was there. Almost as if to cement my thoughts there's a very faint coo from the corner of the room and looking over, Fawkes is shuffling his feathers restlessly. His black eyes seem to be fixed on Bathilda, although perhaps I'm imagining that. I've never had the magic touch that Hagrid or Pomona for example have with either fauna or flora, but something about those eyes have always made me think that the bird is far more intelligent that we often give him credit for. It's the same unexplainable something that makes me think that the bird is listening now, that makes me ponder whether there's a reason the phoenix is a legendary bird aside from their immortality. Somehow I have an inkling that he understands, if not the words then perhaps the emotions and maybe even the motives.

"But Aberforth was right, wasn't he?" Bathilda spits out, anger and betrayal lancing through her voice, power rolling off her in waves that I can feel from across the room. The colour drains out of Albus' face as he stares at her mutely, seemingly incapable of answering. "To think I actually felt sorry for you. To think I thought it unfair. I was wrong, wasn't I? Aberforth was right all this time. I wondered why you never defended yourself. He was right. You don't know the meaning of the word love. You never have. For all your talk and bluster you've never actually loved anyone. You've never loved anyone so much you'd give up anything, even your own soul to save them."

There's a brief moment of silence before Bathilda continues more softly. It's as if she's forgotten that we're still in the room and none of us are willing to move and potentially break the spell.

"You didn't love her, did you Albus?" Her eyes seem to be drilling into Albus and I can almost see him wilt in front of us. The greatest and most powerful wizard of this century being lambasted by an elderly woman with less power than the majority of his current faculty. "You didn't love her; you just felt you ought to. You felt obliged. You don't know the meaning of the word love. How can you?"

Albus seems to tear his eyes away from Bathilda with great effort but looking to me he finds no mercy or succour in my face. Part of me is honestly shocked at how white he's gone, how heavily he's leaning against his desk as if he can't support his own weight, how old he looks. I don't think I'm imagining the slightest of tremors to his hand as he finally reaches out for the photograph resting in my outstretched hand.

"I loved her," his voice cracks and falters as he looks at me beseechingly. I stare back in complete confusion. Why is he addressing me? But despite everything, despite even myself, I feel my heart breaking anew at the sight of the man I have given my life to, the man I have trusted for so many years, breaking in front of me. "I loved her…"

"You can't even say her name," Bathilda bites out scathingly, fire dancing in her eyes. "How can you expect me to believe you loved her when you can't even say her name? How can you expect us to believe anything you say? You know exactly what you put that boy through and you don't care. It's just like Gellert used to say isn't it? It's all in the name of some Greater Good that only you two could ever see! But this is the end."

Her voice suddenly drops in pitch and I am not the only one to look at her quizzically, although my attention is swiftly taken away by a slightly louder trill from the corner of the room. Fawkes is sitting up now, very obviously looking straight at Bathilda. I'd give much at this moment in time to know how much that bird actually understands.

"This is the end, once and for all Albus," Bathilda continues speaking over Albus' protests easily, refusing to allow him even that much ground. I'd applaud her if I had the opportunity. She couldn't have steamrollered him any better had she been the Hogwarts Express. "Here is where it ends. Your influence stops."

"You have no right –"

"No," her voice cuts like a whip across his words. "No, Albus. You have no right. Did you even bother to look at Lily and James' Last Will and Testimony? Did you even think of honouring their last wishes or did you throw them away as carelessly as you threw their only son away?"

There's utter silence in the room as we all stare at Albus. As I watch his face goes greyer than I thought possible and I can't help but wonder whether it's true. Is it possible that he had access to a Will and Testimony and chose to disregard it for whatever reasons he had at the time. Could he have been that inhuman? Could he have left a child with relatives that hated him when there always was another option? I don't want to believe it. But when he drops his eyes to the floor instead of answering the candid question that I realise Bathilda is right. Lily had actively named guardians for her child. Albus didn't just make a mistake all those years ago; he actively went against the last wishes of Lily. He betrayed even that trust. My own fury rises once more.

"You opened it, didn't you?" Bathilda seems to have come to the same conclusion as me. The complete lack of argument only strengthens her resolve. "You know exactly who Lily and James' named as guardian for the boy and you disregarded it as blatantly as you avoided my pleas to see the child. Who Albus? Who did you take the child from?"

The silence builds steadily around us to the point where it's actively oppressive. Part of me wants to break it but at the same time Albus is the only one with the answer to this question. He is the only one who knows. But still, the silence wraps itself around us almost painfully and I can see that Filius at least is in the same dilemma. Before I can ruin everything with a badly placed sentence though, Bathilda whispers a single sentence and although there seems to be more sadness than malice in it, it still makes my blood run cold.

"I can ruin you with a single word, Albus." Her voice rasps across the words and she swallows hard. "Do you really want to push me that far?"

Albus' eyes flick from the elderly woman to me as if hoping for some kind of rescue. Not finding what he needed in my eyes he glances across the other witnesses in the room but I think we're all in the same stunned state. Part of me desperately wants to know what Bathilda is holding over Albus' head, what words have that much power. But more than that, I need to know just how badly we failed Harry. How badly we failed Lily.

"The first guardian listed was Harry's godfather, Sirius Black," Albus' tone seems strong, but the tremor to his hands is more noticeable now and I don't think any of us are fooled. Somehow Bathilda has backed him into a corner that he can't escape from. Even so, those bright blue eyes meet mine unwaveringly. "After the man's complete betrayal of the Potter's and subsequent arrest pending permanent imprisonment in Azkaban, he could hardly be considered a worthy guardian for the boy, even if it were possible."

"But…" My brain is struggling to keep up with the conversation whilst memories hurl themselves against my thoughts in a maelstrom. Memories dredged up of a time I would have preferred to stay forgotten, memories I buried for a reason. "But, we left the boy on Petunia's doorstep before Peter tried to kill Sirius, before we knew who had betrayed Lily and James. You had Hagrid collect Harry from him. How did you…"

My voice trails off as my gaze flies between Albus and Bathilda.

"I knew who Lily and James had picked for their Secret Keeper, Minerva," his voice is so calm, so gentle. I want to believe him so badly it actively hurts. "I knew Black had betrayed them the moment I felt their wards fail. There was no other possibility." His hands stretch out almost pleadingly. "I didn't dare let Sirius suspect that I knew. Merlin knows what he'd have done with Harry otherwise. There's every chance he'd have tried to finish the job that Voldemort failed and dropped the child into the Atlantic Ocean."

Against my will memories of the dark haired youth I had tried to push from my mind force themselves forward. Memories of the young man playing with Harry, chasing him round the garden and catching him as he fell off a broom that barely flew a foot off the floor. My memories of the man don't add up with the facts. The youth I knew wouldn't have harmed a hair on that child's head. The man I knew would have protected Harry with his life. But the boy I taught would have died before betraying James as well.

"For the moment, let's assume you're right." Bathilda's voice interjects mercilessly, mockery and scorn dripping off every word. "Let's assume that Black betrayed the best friend he ever had, that he turned to a Dark Lord he hated more than the rest of his thrice damned family. For the moment, let's forget that I saw those two together every day for years and the bond they shared was closer than blood. Let's forget they were brothers in all but name."

For a second I'm thrown back to that night when all of our dreams and our nightmares came true in the same space of breath. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named gone. James and Lily betrayed. Harry orphaned. I remember my complete disbelief and horror that Sirius could ever have betrayed them like it was yesterday. Not Sirius, the boy who'd been virtually inseparable from James since the first day they walked into Hogwarts. But the evidence seemed inescapable. Who else would have Lily and James have trusted with their most precious secret? Who else would they have entrusted their lives to? Bathilda's words however bring it all crashing back. Could we have been wrong all these years?

"Who else, Albus?" The old woman's voice is harsh and cracked. "Who else did Lily name? There must have been a second."

The silence in the room is once more broken by the slight ruffling of feathers and yet another gentle set of trills from the phoenix still sat in the corner. The gentle melody of the notes seems to send a swell of strength through me in rush. Glancing across at it for a second I'd swear it looks at me with so much sorrow and warmth that I could believe it understands everything I feel.

Finally Albus speaks again.

"Lily named two others," his voice falters and his eyes glance nervously across the room.

"Who, Albus?"

"Lily named two prospective guardians, dependant on their wishes." The words are almost whispered into the silence, but I couldn't have missed them if I'd have tried. "Minerva and…you."

I feel as if I've been run over by a hippogriff. Lily named me. Lily trusted me. And Albus knew. Looking across at Bathilda I can see the same sense of disbelief and shock on her face. How different the last ten years could have been. Either of us would have taken the child in a heartbeat. We could even have split guardianship to take into account term-time. Neither of us would have let him fester alone in the muggle world if we'd have known.

"How many times did I ask you, Albus?" The crack in the older woman's voice is unmistakeable. "How many times did I beg you? I'd have put the Fidelius Charm in an instant. I'd have done anything for that boy. Anything Albus. And all along you knew, all along Lily's last wishes had been…"

The silence in the room means that none of us can miss the sudden ruffling of feathers in the corner; the only other sounds are those of us breathing. All heads snap to the phoenix as one, just in time to see the magnificent bird rises into the air with a soft trill. None of us can resist the view of the flame-like plumage rising majestically around us and for those few moments Albus is almost forgotten. None of us can take our eyes off the bright red wings and golden tail feathers as the bird rises into the air. And then settled on Bathilda's shoulder.

There was a shocked silence for a long moment. Fawkes looked absurdly large perched on the frail old woman's shoulder and for a fraction of a second I wondered whether she'd be able to take his weight, but Bathilda gave no sign of discomfort or pain. All of us watched completely mesmerised as the majestic bird gently lowered its head to her face. Drops of water, like pearls, fell from the bird onto the elderly woman's forehead and I suddenly realised that Fawkes was crying. I had actually seen a phoenix cry.

"These are wounds you're tears can't fix I'm afraid," Bathilda's voice when it finally came cracked and splintered like rusted steel, tear tracks down her cheeks mirroring the tracks of the phoenix tears. I look away rather than face such naked anguish marked across her face. "These are wounds the precious gift of your tears can't help."

I'd always thought the tales of the phoenix's laments were huge exaggerations, after all how could a bird, however intelligent and magical, fill a song with emotion and comfort. I'd always thought a phoenix song would be merely a prettier version of a caldrius' or a mockingjay's call. After all, we all know that phoenix tears have near miraculous healing abilities but their song? Surely that was just a child's bedtime story to fill their dreams with songs of wonder. Or so I'd thought. So I thought until I heard Fawkes sing. If sing is even the right word to describe it.

Sing seems a pallid and insipid word in comparison to the unforgettably haunting sound that filled the air. It was a song of grief and of comfort, of betrayal and succour, of hope and promise for the future and I felt it easing my heart with every note that flowed into me. When the music stopped it was almost as if I'd lost a limb or a part of me that I couldn't describe, there was a sudden emptiness that words and emotions couldn't fill. But the song wasn't meant for me.

As the last note died away I looked across at Bathilda, now standing proudly, Fawkes still on her shoulder. The tear tracks down her cheeks are still obvious but her eyes hold a steely edge to them as she looks at Albus.

"You'll interfere no more, old man," she growls at him vehemently. It's completely inappropriate but I can't help smile at her use of the term old. "On the grave of Lily Potter I swear it, you will interfere no more. You have taken much from me and you have taken much from Harry, you take no more. Eventually you will have to answer to Lily and then you will find your reckoning."

Bathilda puts her arm out straight and the phoenix neatly leaps off her arm and rises gracefully into the air once more before disappearing in a thunderous flurry of flame.

"Wonderful birds, phoenix's," she suddenly remarks softly looking directs Albus who hasn't taken his eyes off the spot where Fawkes vanished. His eyes seem hollow and almost afraid. "Loyal and intelligent. You're not his Master you realise. That bird chose you and has been loyal to you for many years. That doesn't mean his loyalty will last forever, old man."

That shakes me from my awe at Fawke's astonishing display. As long as I have known Albus, Fawkes has been the constant at his side. Over the years I have seen the incredible bond between them; more than master and pet or even wizard and familiar. For Albus to lose that incredible bird would be more than just a heavy blow, it would be the end of an era, the loss of his closest companion and friend. Is that the reason for that look of fear in his eyes?

"You can lead me back to the office, young man," Bathilda snaps imperiously at Severus, she has dismissed Albus from her attention as if he were an annoying pixie that has been dealt with. "Come on I don't have all day."

But my mind is immediately taken elsewhere. Sirius. Harry. Lily's last wishes. Aberforth. This whole conversation feels like it's been a whirlwind of shocks and catastrophic news. I have the vague realisation that I never attended a trial for Sirius, I was never asked to testify. I should have been asked to testify. Did the man not have a trial? Has he been rotting in Azkaban, hated by those of us who should have known him better for ten years? The thought's appalling. Ten years. Ten years in that dark and desolate place surrounded by creature's who suck every ounce of happiness and hope you have out of you. Ten years of complete, abject misery. I never asked. I never thought to ask.

And that one word. One word spoken so softly, so sadly, so mournfully. One word that gave Bathilda immediate access to the office of the most powerful wizard of the century. One word that is going to haunt me. What does it mean?

One word.

Ariana.


	24. The Lesser of Evils

**Chapter 24: The Lesser of Evils**

"Have you made any plans for the replacement Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor?"

Amelia's question takes me by surprise. With everything else that has happened since the arrest and imprisonment of Quirinus, the appointment of the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher had completely slipped my mind. I've got a couple of possibilities in mind but whether they'll accept a position that is now becoming widely rumoured to be cursed is a different matter.

"I had considered putting an open advert in the Daily Prophet," I hastily gather my scattered thoughts in order to respond to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. "However, given how late in the school year it is and how urgently we need a replacement, I thought it might be a better idea to first approach a few qualified individuals."

"You have someone in mind then?" Amelia asks astutely, not wasting any time on pleasantries.

"I have a couple of candidates to approach," I say cautiously, more than aware that the Ministry may not approve of my possibilities.

Of the couple of people I have thought of two are Aurors and the other is a werewolf even if Amelia doesn't actually know that. It may take some time to persuade him to come to Hogwarts considering the man vanished after the death of Lily and James; not that I can blame him for that. The death of three of your best friends closely followed by another being imprisoned in Azkaban for life would throw anyone into a life of seclusion even without having the added issues of lycanthropy. The thought of what Severus is going to think about this idea doesn't fill me with joy either. The only thing that stopped Severus from destroying Remus after that incident in the Shrieking Shack was Albus. What he'll say about his nemesis for more years than I can count coming back to Hogwarts I dread to think.

"I take it from your guarded response that the running of Hogwarts has resumed being very much Hogwarts' business?" Amelia inquires tartly but her smile takes the sting out of the comment. "Just so you're aware, Gilderoy Lockhart is back in the country. Many of his written works are now considered household necessities after all and he has wide experience of dark creatures."

There's a moment of utter silence as I gaze at Amelia in shocked horror. Did she just seriously suggest that we hire Gilderoy Lockhart? I wasn't the only one glad to see the back of the man when he finally graduated and have no wish to have to work with him as a colleague.

"Did you really just suggest Lockhart as a suitable candidate for a teacher, Amelia?" I finally ask in more than slightly strangled tones. "Please tell me you haven't mentioned the vacancy to him?"

"Well, I mentioned it to him in passing," Amelia sounds puzzled as she responds. "He was in the Ministry for some reason or another and offered me a signed photograph if I'd pose with him. I had to decline of course. But Minerva, whatever is the problem?"

"The man is a narcissistic, fanatical lunatic, that's the problem Amelia!" I snap furiously. "For Merlin's sake he sent eight hundred Valentines to himself! We had to cancel the entire Valentine breakfast because of the owl droppings and feathers! The man is a lunatic!"

"Surely you can't base your entire decision on a poor choice made over ten years ago, Minerva?" Amelia asks me sternly. "We all make poor decisions as teenagers, it hardly disqualifies him for the job. He's been all the way around the world, seen more things than half of the children could even imagine. What he was like as a teenager has no bearing on the man now."

I certainly can judge the man based on his lack of aptitude and swollen sense of self importance as a teenager as I very much doubt he has changed one iota. I have only read one of his books, _Gibbering with Ghouls_ or some nonsense like that anyway; a complete load of rubbish the lot of it. I had been vaguely interested to see what kind of ghouls the man was talking about as by and large the majority of them will do little more than growl at you but I was solely disappointed if I'd expected to find any actual information in the book. It was more of a monologue to how brilliantly charming, funny and clever he was with no real substance. Much like the man himself I reflect bitterly.

"Amelia, the man has an ego larger than muggle London," I say wearily. I continue despite the other woman's raised eyebrows. "Even if he knew the topic well enough to teach it, and from what I recall of him as a student I would very much doubt that, he'd spend more time fixing his hair than actually teaching."

"Well, he seemed quite keen when I mentioned it. In particular he was very interested in the fact that Harry Potter had started this year," Amelia continues relentlessly. "He's got a solid resume and would be a firm favourite with some of the parents as well, particularly the mothers. It's worth consideration at least, Minerva. I'm certain he'll contact you about the vacancy."

I can't help the groan that escapes me. I'll have to contact Remus quickly; if the parents find out that the famous and adored Gilderoy Lockhart applied to teach at Hogwarts and I turned him down I'll never hear the end of it. Molly Weasley will be the least of my worries. It doesn't overly surprise me that the useless man has latched onto the image of one Harry Potter either, I reflect sombrely. Any chance for a photo opportunity to show off those glittering teeth of his.

"I'll send my owls off immediately," I tell Amelia through gritted teeth. "Gilderoy Lockhart will return to Hogwarts over my dead body."

With that the conversation was over and Amelia saw herself out. I was certain she'd left fairly disgruntled at my lack of enthusiasm regarding Gilderoy taking on the teaching role but I couldn't bring myself to care. Why had she had to mention the vacancy to that fool? I was certain I'd be hearing from him within short order and I'd have to think of some reason that would penetrate his puffed up sense of his own importance.

Unfortunately I hadn't finished even half of my missive to Remus when there was a tapping at my window. Looking up I saw a handsome looking screech owl sitting on my window ledge clearly preening itself in the reflective window with a bright lilac envelope attached to it. Even from a distance the swooping, distinctive handwriting on the envelope is recognisable. Sighing heavily I let the owl in and take the heavily perfumed envelope from it.

_Dear Minerva McGonagall,_

_I am delighted to say that I am completely free of other responsibilities and, as you will surely know having read my books, I am the perfect candidate for the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Who better for the role than myself as an Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, Order of Merlin, Third Class and five times winner of the Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award._

_With this and my wealth of experience and knowledge in mind, I look forward to hearing from you regarding when I start in the position. I would also expect that such a prestigious member of the community such as myself would have a salary to match his excellence._

_Yours in wait,_

_Gilderoy Lockhart_

The sheer nerve of the man astounds me. Tossing the parchment forcefully to one side I returned to my letter writing in earnest, however it soon became apparent that the owl hadn't removed itself from my office. Even more apparent when it hopped imperiously onto the parchment thereby forcing me to stop writing as I look at it in exasperation.

"Scram, go on shoo," I muttered, waving an idle hand at the creature only to be met with an indignant glare from the bird as it held its leg out to me haughtily. Perfect. Apparently the creature was expecting an answer before it went anywhere. "Bloody pompous arrogant high handed fool of a man…"

With a heavy sigh and more than a few imprecations under my breath of what I plan to do to the man if he so much as steps foot on Hogwarts grounds, I scrawled a quick response that had little bearing of my true feelings towards Gilderoy.

_Dear Gilderoy,_

_It was lovely to hear from you after so many years of silence. Your application to the role of Defence Against the Darts Arts teacher has been received and will be processed along with all the other applications we receive._ _The role will be closely contended by many excellent applicants and I cannot promise any more than our consideration to your application at this point in time._

_It is also worth noting that funding is limited and there is no room for a raised salary in the near future. I'm sure you can understand that the budget of running such a large institution of Hogwarts must be balanced carefully to ensure the students education is the highest we can possibly arrange across the board._

_If there is any progress on your application I will send you word via owl._

_I hope this finds you well,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

Hopefully that will keep the man quiet long enough for me to find an alternative possibility, if not Merlin knows what I'll have to do. I'd set Severus on the fool but I fear there wouldn't be enough pieces left to send to St. Mungo's for reassembly by the time he's finished. Not that it would be all together much of a loss to the Wizarding world but that kind of behaviour tends to be looked on askance in some circles at least.

Having got rid of the intruding owl I quickly finish my missive to Remus and send Pantherus on a mission to flush him out of wherever he's now hiding. If I'm in luck the last communications I send regarding Potter's state when he arrived at Hogwarts should be enough to keep him available for the time being. It's just down to whether I can get him to see beyond his condition now; after all he was at Hogwarts for seven years as a student, surely it's not that much of a leap to come back as an instructor.

Whilst I'm waiting I also pen a brief missive to Nicholas Flamel to inquire what he wants done regarding the Philosopher's Stone. After the recent threat to the Stone from Quirinus I can't see the man being particularly pleased at the thought of keeping the Stone here; he may be hundreds of years but I doubt that makes him any more willing to have that taken away from him. I'm not sure who's bright idea it was to hide the Stone in the school to begin with, but I think we've proven quite categorically that it's no safer here than it was at Gringott's. I doubt anyone has seen fit to inform him of this however.

Surprisingly it isn't long before Pantherus comes swooping back through my window looking thoroughly pleased with himself. There's a tightly rolled piece of parchment attached just above his left foot.

_Dear Minerva,_

_Many thanks for your update on what has been occurring in Hogwarts over the last few months. In honesty, the entire situation seems completely mind blowing – how could you have had He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in Hogwarts itself and nobody realise? Hogwarts is known for having one of the strongest complements of wizards and witches within the United Kingdom!_

_I have to admit I'd extremely concerned about what you've said about Harry. Albus specifically instructed me that I'd be putting the boy in danger if I contacted him; I believe his phrase was "you'd lead the Death Eaters directly to the boys door!". That's the only reason I've kept my distance all these years; I didn't want to put James and Lily's son at risk just because of my selfishness. You say Amelia has found a suitable guardian for the child, would it be possible to introduce me at your earliest possibility? I have missed so much of Harry's childhood and would be extremely grateful if I could be permitted a chance to meet my best friend's son now._

_Regarding the post at Hogwarts, I'm flattered that you've considered me for the role Minerva but considering my condition I can't see myself being the best candidate you can find. Even if Severus agreed to make Wolfsbane potion for me, and I'd be extremely surprised if he did, I can't see the parents or the Ministry being happy for me to teach their children. Albus took enough of a chance in allowing me to attend Hogwarts in the first place and that nearly ended in disaster. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to regretfully decline your kind offer. None of us can afford to put the students at risk in such a fashion._

_I have attached my floo details overleaf, so if you have further information about Harry and his guardian please feel free to drop in. I would appreciate it however if my details weren't handed out more widely._

_Thanks again for contacting me,_

_Remus_

I sigh heavily. I can't say that wasn't what I'd expected even if I'd hoped for more. It was probably far too much to hope for that Remus would jump at the chance to come back to Hogwarts. Knowing the difficulties he has in getting employment if honest about his condition, part of me couldn't help hoping that the free offer of work would be enough to catch his attention. Or possibly that the lure of seeing the child of his best friends, the boy who could have been his godson, would be enough to pull him back to Hogwarts. Clearly not.

That doesn't mean I can't persuade the man though. Just that I need to try harder. Granted, persuasion has never been one of my talents. I've always been a master at the model of telling it straight and letting others reach the obvious conclusions for themselves. The arts of persuasion and flattery are not ones I have spent any amount of time on. There are far more important things to focus on. That said though, I'm still on my feet and standing in front of the fireplace ready to floo across in person when a screech owl swoops through the window I'd hastily left open. My heart sinks further. I thought I'd got rid of the blasted man for the moment at least.

_Dear Minerva,_

_It is with some confusion that I received your reply; there must be some confusion or misinterpretation. I understand that Hogwarts is one of the most prestigious teaching institutions for young wizarding minds in Europe and that therefore you must be looking for the brightest and best to teach the students._

_With that in mind you must be able to prioritise applications for the teaching posts that come up. I cannot imagine that there would be anyone more eminently suitable to teach the class of the young Harry Potter than myself; who else has such a wide and varied career in the Dark Arts and battling Dark Creatures._

_I understand that you must seem to be fair and even handed to all potential applicants but no-one in the wizarding world would contest my suitability or expertise in the subject. I am sure the Daily Prophet would have much to say regarding the matter if you failed to take up this opportunity that I am offering you._

_I look forward to hearing more from you regarding when you need me to arrive at Hogwarts and what salary range you are willing to offer. I'm sure that I can have a word with Albus regarding a termly bonus if required._

_Yours in wait,_

_Gilderoy_

This time I don't wait for the owl to force a reply out of me. I can't believe the sheer nerve and impudence of the man. Grabbing a sheet of parchment from the side with such haste I almost knock the ink across my desk I scrawl a response with enough force to near tear the parchment as I write. The screech owl shifts somewhat uneasily as I write, it can clearly pick up on signals even if its damned owner can't.

_Dear Gilderoy,_

_There does indeed seem to be some confusion however I assure you it is not me who is under any misinterpretations. As I believe I stated quite clearly in my previous owl reply, your application has been received and will be treated in accordance with every other application we receive._

_Please note the following points closely. You have not been offered the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts and you are unlikely to be if you keep pestering me in such an unseemly matter. There will be no negotiations regarding salary or bonuses regardless of what you clearly think you are worth. The post comes with a set stipend and the living quarters of a live in member of staff; the amount is final._

_Finally, you may have forgotten several embarrassing or inconvenient memories from your previous tenure at Hogwarts. Believe me Gilderoy, I haven't. If you insist on being exceedingly tedious and running to the Daily Prophet, there are several less golden moments that I would be more than happy to share with a seasoned reporter like Rita Skeeter myself._

_If your application is taken further I will contact you again to arrange an interview. I do not expect to hear from you before then._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall._

Rolling it tightly I tie it unceremoniously to the bird still sat waiting on my desk and breathe deeply as it flies off. Slamming the window shut I lock it for good measure. I was perhaps a little hasty in my reply but I swear I'll eat the Sorting Hat before I allow that pretentious prig of a man to step foot in Hogwarts as a member of staff. I dread to think what he'll make of that though, I probably ought to have flattered him and be done with it. The man can be a complete peacock when he wants to be. There's not much I can do about it now though; the letter has gone and the owl is a-wing. I can't exactly call it back even if I wanted to. On that thought I move back to my fireplace and call out the directions Remus has given me from his letter. The familiar whooshing sensation overtakes me and then I'm standing in the fireplace of a small and slightly shambolic looking room.

"Remus," I greet the man standing in the centre of the room carefully, not showing any shock or grief in either my expression or my voice.

Despite that though, I can't help but feel a deep sense of both sadness and shame looking at the man I used to teach. Still so young and yet the flecks of grey in his light hair are obvious, just as obvious as the weariness and tiredness that emanates from him in waves. His robes are patched, frayed and about a decade out of date which is a description that seems to sum up the rest of the room as well. There's nothing new or even in good repair anywhere I can see; the sofa looks to have gone through so many hands that even stitching charms are barely keeping it together anymore.

"Professor McGonagall," he says softly glancing around the room quickly. "I wasn't expecting you so soon or I'd have…I'd have…"

His voice tails off but it doesn't take a genius to fill in the missing words.

"There's nothing to worry about, Remus," I reply briskly, ignoring the look of relief in the young man's eyes. "And it's Minerva now you know. It's been many years since you were in my classroom after all. But it is classrooms I am here to discuss I have to admit."

"I'm sorry," he responds quietly but surprisingly firmly, "my answer must stay the same Minerva. For me to teach would be putting students in danger every full moon no matter what precautions we took to prevent accidents." He laughs bitterly. "A werewolf shouldn't be allowed in the company of a school full of children. I think we proved that quite effectively last time."

"No," I say equally firmly and more than a little sharply. "What I think was proven last time was that Sirius was an immature fool who didn't stop to think through the consequences of his actions before blindly committing to them. You took all possible precautions and Wolfsbane Potion has been brought into mainstream use since rendering your full moon form all but harmless."

The use of Sirius' name is like a bucket of cold water has been poured over the young man in front of me. The tired and weary look momentarily vanishes from his face replaced by an almost feral snarl as he thinks back on the man we all believed betrayed the Potters. Betrayed his best friend. Betrayed what could only be described as his family.

"Don't mention his name in front of me." The sudden fire in Remus' amber eyes is such a change from the usually passive, careful young man I'm used to it takes me aback. I watch in amazement The vicious hatred on his face is an expression that wouldn't be misplaced on Severus, but seems wrong on the usually gentle Remus. I almost expect his lips to curl. "I will not have that betrayer's name said in my household, however meagre it may be."

There's so much anger in his tone after all these years. So much betrayal and hatred. Not that I can blame him. If what we believed is true, then in one swoop Sirius Black took everything that Remus cared for away from him. James, Lily, Harry. The only people who knew about his 'furry problem' as James insisted on calling it and didn't care with the exception of Sirius himself. If anyone has a right to be bitter it's Remus. Or perhaps Sirius himself.

"That's another thing I need to speak with you about, actually," I say calmly, watching the fury rise in the other man's eyes as I speak. "Are you aware that Sirius was never given the opportunity of a trial?"

"There didn't need to be!" There's no hesitation or conflict in Remus's snarl; without a doubt he believes that Sirius is guilty as charged. "He as much as admitted at the time! It was his fault he said as he laughed." Some of the anger seems to leave his eyes replaced once again by that bone-wearied sadness. "He laughed, Professor. James and Lily were dead and he laughed. How can you even try to defend him? How can you even think of it?"

"Without a trial, how can we be certain?" I ask gently, watching the conflicting emotions passing over his face. "Without a trial, can you really be sure that Sirius betrayed you all? Are you really willing to believe that?"

"Who else would James have trusted?" He bit out sharply, bitterness and anger still raging in his expression. "They didn't trust me. Who else would they have believed would go to his grave before betraying them?"

That's the one missing link that I have. If Bathilda is right, if Sirius didn't betray his best friend and brother in all but name, who did? Who would the Potter's have trusted with not just their lives but the life of their precious son other than the man they named godfather? I wish they'd come to me. I wish they'd spoken to me. I wish so much could be changed. But it can't and that is the one question I don't have the answer to. One of the many questions I have to admit. But Bathilda is right, too much of this doesn't add up.

"I don't know," I speak slowly, carefully into the tense atmosphere. "I don't know, but I mean to find out. I can't prove anything at the moment, but do you really believe Sirius would have betrayed James? Do you really believe he'd have hurt a hair on Harry's head? I'm not sure I do anymore. I don't know but I think we have done the man a vast disservice all these years by not stopping to check, not questioning whether we could be wrong."

"You can't be right," Remus' words are forceful but there's more than just anger and betrayal behind them this time. There's fear running deep and clear in his words. Because if Sirius didn't betray James and Lily, then haven't we betrayed him so much more badly? "You can't be right. It can't be."

"Come back to Hogwarts with me Remus," I talk over his frantic head shakes. "You don't have to come back long term. You don't have return to teach, no matter how much I'd like you to. But come back to Hogwarts with me now. Meet Harry, meet his new guardian and hear what she has to say. Because if I am right we have more to put right than just the blatant abuse and mistreatment of Harry to contend with."

There's a moment of complete and utter silence in the room as I look intently at the young man in front of me. It's only broken when he suddenly breaks eye contact and sags into one of the frayed chairs nearest to him.

"You're not going to try to make me teach?" he says so softly I nearly miss it.

"Now that I can't promise," I say more lightly as I bite back a smile at the look of horror on his face. "I can't force you, but I really don't think you can be any more of a threat than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named after all."

"I don't think that's saying much," he grumbles. "That's like saying having a vampire teach would be less risky than Fenrir Greyback. I'm not sure the parents would be all too placated by the argument of 'lesser of two evils'."

"My other option at the moment would appear to be Gilderoy Lockhart," I say dryly watching the distaste flicker across Remus' face. "In all honesty, I think I'd prefer to hire the vampire."

"Can't blame you," he mutters under his breath. "The man is just about the only water-tight argument for magical binding that I've ever seen."

Well, it's not just me then. That's something of a relief at least. I know that Severus would share my dislike for the pompous twit but then again Severus dislikes nearly everyone. It's a far more difficult task to find someone Severus will tolerate.

"You'll come back with me?" I ask hopefully.

"I guess I will," he replies grimly. "I'm not going to put the students at risk though Minerva."

"Do you really think I'd let you put my students at risk?" I inject a note of steel into my tone and watch him react just as his teenage self would have done all those years ago. "How little faith do you have in me, Remus? Believe me when I say, no student under my care will be put at risk again. That I promise you."

"You haven't changed a bit, Professor," Remus finally says with a wry smile. "I'll come up to Hogwarts with you. I'm not promising anything though mind."

"I don't expect you to."

Leading the way back to my office I step back into the floo calling out my office. Two things attract my attention immediately as I step neatly out of the fireplace.

Firstly, Severus is standing by the door looking as sour and unimpressed as he usually manages. And Remus is going to be right behind me.

Secondly there's a screech owl sitting on my window ledge.

It's the same darn screech owl.


	25. Baptism of Fire

The moment that Remus appeared in the floo behind me was obvious by how abruptly Severus' expression changes as well as how furiously. This was not how I'd meant to introduce him to the idea of Remus coming back to teach I must admit. It wouldn't have been a particularly pleasant conversation regardless but having no warning as his age old nemesis steps through the fireplace in front of him was definitely not on my top ten lists of ways to bring Severus around to bad news.

"You!" The ice in Severus' gaze is nothing on the sheer malice in the low growled single syllable. His wand is in his hand without me seeing it drawn. Even I find myself taking a step backwards before remembering this is my blasted office and I won't be threatened in it by anyone; not Severus and certainly not that peacock of a fool Gilderoy. I insert myself between my two former pupils with more confidence than I actually feel. "Come back to finish the job you once started have you? Believe me, I'll have your head on a stick before I let a furball like you walk around Hogwarts once more."

"Severus…" I start warningly. The last thing I need is curses flying around my office.

"No, Minerva," Remus surprises me by cutting me off sharply, amber eyes locked directly on Severus' own and I realise how rarely Remus holds direct eye contact. "I have nothing against you Severus, I never have. If you wish to continue this vendetta, then at the very least know that I have no interest in partaking in it. We are no longer teenage boys."

"You dare to look me in the eyes and –" the anger and hatred in Severus' tone is unmistakable. "Of all the ignorant, murderous…"

Suddenly I realise that I can hear voices from behind the door. Young voices and clearly bickering over something. Fairly quietly mind, but not quite quietly enough. I'd swear blind that I recognise those voices. Motioning Severus abruptly to silence although ignoring whether he obeys, with a silent flip of my wand I send the door flying open; to my absolute horror one rather distinctively red headed student more falls than walks through the entrance. I find myself suddenly praying for a miracle; any other student, please, for Merlin's sake, any other student. There are other red heads surely?

"Have you managed to somehow upset our dearest, most delightful Professor Snape?"

I can't help but choke as that far too familiar voice carols out the words with unmistakable delight in every syllable. There can be no mistake, there will be no miracles today. Severus' sallow face drains in obvious horror at the rude interruption; of all the people to have witnessed this particular reunion. I guess I know what Severus was doing in my office then.

"We thought we'd topped the range of Potion Master reactions," the second red head rather predictably appears from the other side of the door, where you get one twin the other naturally follows. My heart sinks further. The chances of any of us getting out of this with dignity intact has just gone into the negatives.

"So you, our anonymous brother in arms," the one on the right continues with an expectant grin and the unmistakable edge of mischief glinting in his eyes, "interest us greatly we must say."

I get the distinct impression that they are simply continuing the disagreement that they were having outside my door, which doesn't improve my mood in the slightest. Admittedly, I couldn't have permitted them to shamelessly eavesdrop outside the office but perhaps that would have been preferable.

"Never have we heard such rage in our bat of the dungeons voice," Fred, George, whichever one of them it actually is for Merlin's sake, has a grin almost as identical to his twin as the rest of him is. No wonder we can't tell them apart. "And we thought we'd tried everything…"

One of these days I am going to have to find a foolproof way of identifying them, if only for the purposes of distinguishing which one I am giving a detention to at any point in time. I usually solve this issue by giving them detentions together. Saves confusion all round and they tend to deserve it. Hogwarts hasn't seen the likes of these two since the days when Remus himself ran with the Mauraders and it wouldn't surprise me if the twins actually manage to surpass that group by the time they leave the school.

"Explosions, nifflers…"

"…bubotuber pus, fireworks in cauldrons…"

"…toilet seats, love potions…"

"…even the worst of all…"

They pause for breath in complete and perfect unison from their seamlessly carried joint sentences which would make the most sane witch or wizard fear they're losing the plot, let alone a school Professor. I open my mouth to interrupt their duologue but I can tell by the evil glint that's appeared in their eyes that I'm already too late.

"SHAMPOO!"

The joint yell is in the best of their ear splitting tones. It still baffles me how they always seem to know what the other is thinking regardless of time or placement. There's no way they could have seen this opportunity for their favourite sport of Severus baiting; this has to be completely unplanned and unscheduled yet it's as if they can read the others minds. Just what I need. Telepathic Weasley's. Why can't they be more like their older brother Percy?

Two bright spots of colour have appeared high on Severus' face and I have to wonder at the sheer restraint he is showing in not hexing either his nemesis from a previous life or his two current tormentors. On their own this would be bad enough, but for Severus to be mocked and shown up so openly in front of Remus? There is no way to salvage this that doesn't involve the immediate and perhaps rather brutal extraction of the twins from the situation, and even then I don't know if this can be salvaged.

"So forgive us for being presumptuous, but we cannot be allowed to introduce you are newest and dearest friend…"

As I'm considering the best options the one on the right has forged ahead, leaving me cursing my apparently slow and addled wits. I've taught them for three years, you'd have thought I'd know better than to give them any length of rope to run with; they're experts at knotting everyone's ankles together.

"…or our brother in arms if we are left so woefully in the dark about how you know dear Sevvie here…"

I didn't imagine the slight choke from Remus at the description of Severus as Sevvie. Glancing sharply at the young, shabbily dressed wizard I note with a dull horror that his amber eyes are shining with barely repressed amusement at the red haired duo of terror's antics at Severus' expense. I'd remembered the man as the most sensible out of the Marauder's, forgetting the very simple fact that he was, at the end of the day, a member of the Marauder's.

"..and of course what you did in order to gain the undying enmity of such a…"

"FRED!" I bellow harshly across the room at the closest twin regardless of actual identity gaining immediate silence.

Severus' lips are virtually non-existent and if I'm reading that glower correctly I give the twins approximately thirty seconds before his wand shifts from Remus to them. The silence however lasts mere seconds as the one on the right responds almost immediately.

"But I'm not Fred!"

The righteous indignation in his tone is perfect and I'd almost swear there's real hurt in his eyes. Almost. Part of me feels a moment's doubt before realising these two would hoodwink their own mother and smile whilst doing so, let alone me for Merlin's sake.

"No, I'm Fred!" The same hurt tones of indignation and disappointment pipes up from the left. "Honestly Professor, how can you call yourself our Head of House when you can't even tell us apart!? Surely you must be able to tell he's George and I'm Fred!"

I glance once more across at Remus only to find him still watching the twins with that same barely repressed amusement and very obvious interest. His half smile says more than any words can, as he tilts his head slightly with that strange glint in his eyes. I can't tell if they've noted Remus' amusement, but if they're even half as good at reading the audience as I think they are then they've noticed and then some. They'll plan to milk this for all it's worth. It's time to put a stop to it.

"I could not give a flobberworm's mucus as to which one of you happens to be Fred and which happens to be George," I cut across them sharply with the ease of experience. This is a spiel they have perfected over the years and they could probably recite it with ten variations in total harmony whilst sleeping on their heads. "Both of you will be serving a joint detention with me tomorrow for your ill manners and providing I get both of your red heads at six sharp, telling you apart is the least of my worries."

I'd expected a torrent of protests at this hastily handed out detention. On a usual basis I'd be regaled with at least three excuses for their behaviour and five reasons why it is imperative that they can't attend the detention as required, ranging from the vaguely plausible to the completely and utterly ridiculous. All said with completely straight faces of course. How their mother copes with them I have no idea. But instead of the hailstorm of protestations, the twins once more take me by surprise and bow from the waist in complete unison, hands spread in mirror image to each other.

"Of course we shall be at your beck and call…"

The one on the left claiming to be Fred starts with complete sincerity.

"…even though you have shamefully neglected your pastoral duties as our Head of House to our greatest disappointment and pain…"

The twins once more pass the sentence back and force with utter ease and trust in what the other has to say.

"…but first you must introduce us to this anonymous benefactor, who has somehow done what we have tried to do with such dedication and perseverance for so many years…"

There's a particularly evil grin from the one on the right who claims to be George, and I'm almost tempted to break the basic Hogwarts tenant of not hexing students under any circumstances. The temptation to cast Silencio at both of the boys is remarkably strong. Unfortunately, Severus would never let me live it down considering I repeatedly deny his requests, demands and threats to use various hexes on troublesome students, most notably Gryffindors.

"…and earned the undying enmity of the greasy git who claims to be a Professor."

"That is quite enough," I bark sharply at both boys just before Severus explodes. "Never in my life have I heard such disrespect towards a Professor and it will not be permitted." I let a short burst of red sparks fly from my wand as I've seen Molly doing when she's reached the limits of her endurance and watch with a certain satisfaction as the colour drains from the boys faces at the same time as their identical grins vanish. "Corporal punishment may not be permitted at Hogwarts any longer but I promise you I can find punishments that you couldn't dream up in your worst nightmares and if I can't I am certain that Professor Snape…"

I'm suddenly stopped from further threats by a rustling followed by a graceful movement from behind me. I turn slightly and end up watching in astonishment as Remus strides purposefully towards the two boys. Any words of admonishment and all threats of punishment die in my throat as the gentle, cautious man I thought I knew near stalks up to the two boys, dominance running through every line of his body. To my complete shock the boys seem to wilt as he towers over them; it's not often you see those two cower or act with even a modicum of caution, but the looks on their faces as he looms above them is almost akin to trepidation. Thin and shabby the man may be but he still cuts quite an impressive figure squared up against two third year boys, particularly boys almost as shabbily dressed as he is.

"I," There's a slight pause as Remus almost rolls the syllable in what I'd describe as a purr if I didn't know the man better, "am your latest Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor." His tone has moved into something approaching a growl as I stare at him in incredulity. The boys are still staring up at him in what I can only describe as dread. "And I would expect you to address me as Sir."

The silence in the room could not have been more absolute if Severus had just declared a burning need to become the Head of Hufflepuff House. Once again any words that I'd thought of saying flew out of my mind as I stared in utter and abject shock and confusion at Remus. Of all the things I'd thought he might come out with, that hadn't even occurred to me as a possibility, certainly not after our recent discussion. Out of the corner of my eye I watch Severus' face move from shock to horror before settling on something rather akin to disbelief as his mouth opens and closes in silent protest. Even the twins seem momentarily taken aback but theirs is only a minor re-orientation whereas both myself and Severus have rather more significant hurdles to overcome.

"It's a pleasure to meet you sir." The twin on the left bounds the short remaining distance to Remus and grasps his hand in obvious delight seemingly having forgotten his previous discomfort. "The name is George Weasley." He pounds the captive hand enthusiastically. "The other handsome fellow in front of you here is my brother Fred and we are both absolutely delighted to make your acquaintance."

"Fred, Fred Weasley." The twin who had previously introduced himself as George swiftly follows suit, grasping Remus' other hand earnestly to his chest. "We just hope you last longer than the last fellow…"

"…or the one before him…"

"…or for that matter the one before him…"

"In fact," whichever twin it is announces sombrely, an effect spoiled by the wicked grin he's sporting. "Are your certain that you want the job? None of the previous fellows have had much luck with it…"

"It is a pleasure to meet you too Mister Gred and Mister Forge," Remus remarks with a slight smile as he expertly manages to extricate his fingers from their enthusiastic grips. The shocked glance that passes between the twins at the mangling of their names is almost comical in its rarity; I don't know what Remus thinks he's playing at, but I have to admit he's handled the twins better than any of us ever have in the entire time they've been here. "But I do believe it is time for you to be on your way now. We have adult business to discuss."

"Yes, back to your dormitories the both of you," I say as sternly as I can manage. "Before I actually grant Professor Snape his sincere wish to remove an ear from one of you in order to tell the two of you apart."

"But don't you want to…"

"No," I bark at them earnestly. "Whatever it is I most certainly don't want to hear it! To your dormitories, immediately. I will see you at six tomorrow."

The two bound happily out of the door of my office completely oblivious to the chaos they are leaving in their wake. No, not oblivious. Almost certainly damned proud about it. Why, oh why couldn't they be a little more like Percy. Or Charlie. Or Bill. Or even Ron for that matter! What in Merlin's name did I do to deserve them? What sin in a past life did I commit? But the door has barely closed before Severus turns to me with undisguised hatred and fury in his face, pushing the Weasley twins to the furthest recesses of my mind.

"Have you lost your mind, Minerva!?" Severus all but snarls the words as he stalks towards me. "You have offered to hire this, this, this miserable excuse for a human being let alone a wizard? Do you have no sense left at all?"

"I don't believe I've lost anything, Severus," I respond firmly, forcing myself to hold my ground. "We need a Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor and Remus here is perfect for the job."

"He's a werewolf for Merlin's sake," he hurls the words out viciously. "A werewolf! And one that's already tried to kill me once. He shouldn't be allowed anywhere near a teaching vacancy!"

It's not the werewolf bit that really gets Severus I know, but it's the thing he'll focus on because it sounds reasonable. Blaming Remus for an ill-considered and utterly dangerous prank committed by another over a decade ago doesn't sound so reasonable, but that's what he's doing. Much like Severus was committed to hating Harry when he arrived because the boy wears James' face with his mother's eyes, so will he never forgive Remus for being part of that group. I don't think I can blame him in a way, but Remus had every precaution put in place except not having utterly irresponsible friends.

"And you were a Death Eater, Severus."

It's Remus who speaks the words that were on the tip of my tongue, but whilst I may have been tempted to snap them at the other man he speaks with that same curious gentleness. All signs of the dominance illustrated so recently have vanished.

"I at least never had a choice." I grimace at his words expecting the angry rebuttals from Severus that I know are coming. He may have been a Death Eater, but he has proven himself time and time again since. Remus however merely raises his voice slightly to speak over the irate Potions Master. "But by the same token, I don't have a chance to turn back. I only have the chance to take advantage of recent developments. You were given a chance Severus. Will you deny me mine?"

"How can we ever be expected to trust a werewolf?" Severus spits out, no less hatred in his eyes than before but perhaps a bit more hesitantly. "Yes, I can make him Wolfsbane Potion. I can't sit by him to ensure he take it every night!"

"How can we ever be expected to trust a known Death Eater?" I remark calmly, taking my lead from Remus. The hurt in Severus' eyes as he whirls back to me, to his new tormentor strikes at my core. He'd never have accepted these words from Remus. Let him accept them from me now. "Isn't that what so many of us said when Albus gave you that second chance? How can we ever be expected to trust a man who has done so much evil, hurt so many people for fun or profit, disregarded any sanctity of life we choose to hold? Why did Albus give you that chance, Severus?"

"Because Albus is a soft-hearted fool!" The words explode from the younger man vehemently and once more I feel the power reverberating off him, so fragilely held at bay. "Albus is a thrice damned confounded fool!"

"Was he wrong though?" I keep my voice soft and calm. First the threat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returning, then Bathilda's starling insights on Sirius' potential innocence and now this. Is it any wonder that the man is close to the edge? "Albus has made many mistakes as we all know well, but was he wrong to trust you? Was that a mistake?"

The conflicting emotions are clear to see as they flit starkly across Severus' face. He knows exactly where I'm going with this. He's always been better at manipulation and clever words than I have.

"You were given that second chance, Severus, even though you made all those choices yourself. After everything you did, everything you chose to do, Albus gave you that second chance." Remus' words are almost a plea as his amber eyes gaze upon the man who hates him so much. I have to wonder how much strength it takes to offer so much compassion and forgiveness in the face of such hatred. "Please, give me the same chance. You out of everyone ought to understand the grace of the second chance. Let me meet my boy, my cub. Let me teach him."

"So it all comes back down to Potter," Severus bites out sarcastically. "After all these years, it all comes back down to Potter. Well, if you cared for the boy that much, what have you been doing these past ten years?"

"Exactly what you have Severus." Still there's no anger, no hurt, no resentment or bitterness in his voice. No matter what Severus says; Remus is not going to bite. "I've been lying low, doing exactly what Albus wanted me to. Can you say you have done any better?"

"He's still a danger to every child, adult and house elf in the castle," Severus snaps at me but without the same force behind his words. He can continue to fight this battle and he even has a chance at winning it, but that depends on how much he's willing to lose in order to pursue a decade long vendetta. "My point still stands, I can brew the Wolfsbane but I can't force him to take it!"

"You won't have to, Severus," I say firmly. "If it's that much of an issue then I personally will volunteer to supervise Remus as he takes the Wolfsbane, every night it is required for as long as he may teach. No offence meant to you, Remus," I glance at him warily, but he doesn't seem to have taken my words as an affront. "I know you well enough to know you wouldn't miss a dose deliberately and as I understand it lycanthropy is painful enough to be an incentive in and of itself, but I can't see that being enough for the parents or the Ministry alone."

"None taken, Minerva," he says with a slight grimace. "I take it you intend to make my condition known if I take the post then?"

"If you're willing of course." Although willing is possibly not the best of words. The man has hidden his condition all these years for fear of others reactions. I know exactly what I'm asking of him. "The time of secrets is past. The one thing we have certainly learned this last year is that nobody benefits from one person holding all the cards to their chest. Nobody is infallible."

The look on Severus' face is the same anger and distrust mixed with a new hope that there may be a loophole that doesn't involve him. He thinks Remus will refuse and for very good reason, but I hope I know my old student better. Providing I play this right, I think I still have a chance. If I can play it right. If I can find the right words. Words to somehow change the defences of a lifetime.

"I think we'd need to let the Ministry know," I continue, hoping against hope that I'm right. "With Ministry backing, I doubt the parents would only be informed if they had to be. I'm willing to pledge my trust and assistance in ensuring that you and the students remain safe during your monthly transformations, if Severus is willing to pledge his Potions expertise then I believe we can make an argument they won't refute. But if the Ministry found out through other means…" Here I can't help glancing at Severus who is looking faintly thunderous but not quite as murderous as earlier which I'll take to be a good sign. "…that would be inexcusable. The board and the parents would be rightfully be up in arms. It would look as if we had willingly placed their children in danger when in fact we have taken every step to reduce and remove any threat to the students health."

"It needs to be above board you mean," Remus says mildly. "I can…see where you are coming from."

"Exactly," I can't keep the relief from my voice. "I don't advocate shouting your condition from the rooftops, but letting the relevant Ministry officials know may avoid a complete media storm later on."

"Alternatively, there is always the possibility that I simply vacate Hogwarts on the full moon and stay in Hogsmeade for the evening," Remus suggests carefully. "You are possibly right that the Ministry should be aware in advance, but if I am nowhere near the students during the monthly transformation then there can be little cause for concern. As Severus stated, Wolfbane or not there is always the potential of error even if safeguards are put into place."

"That is true," I muse thoughtfully. In fact that is possibly a better way of dealing with the issue than I had thought up. "I can't see even the most hot headed parent being able to panic if you are not on school property at the time of the transformation."

"So, is the position cursed as my 'new best friends' seemed to intimate?" Remus asks, changing the topic deftly, with that strange half smile curling his lips.

"We certainly haven't had much luck since the late fifties," I admit wryly. "I can't see why anyone would bother to curse a teaching position I have to admit though or if it's even possible…"

"It's certainly possible," Severus' intrusion into the conversation is surprising, but nowhere as near as astonishing as the reasonably calm look on his face. "It would take a wizard substantially stronger than myself to manage it. I've discussed it with Albus many times over the years. I'm of the opinion that the only wizards powerful enough are Albus himself or the Dark Lord. I'd argued for scratching the subject completely and introducing something similar but under a different name and syllabus, but Albus would never accept it."

"And ah, what would you replace it with?"

The sudden redirection of the conversation has thrown me off balance. It shouldn't surprise me that Severus has an expert opinion on the much theorised Curse of the Dark Arts I suppose. It possibly surprises me more that he's willing to set aside his long held vendetta against Remus in order to discuss it.

"A course on offensive and defensive spells, effectively merging the idea of Defence Against the Dark Arts and that of a duelling club," Severus responds almost blandly. "The title of the course wouldn't matter so much but something along the lines of Protective and Defensive Spellcraft and Lore would probably cover all the bases. The only potential issue is that the current modules of Dark creatures that we cover in Defence Against the Dark Arts would be difficult to place in that framework. The required defensive spells could be covered but the theory would perhaps need to be part of the Care of Magical Creatures course."

"I can see why Albus wasn't so keen on the idea," I muse quietly. "What you are suggesting would…"

What Severus is suggesting would require a reworking of not one but two entire syllabuses. Care of Magical Creatures would in turn need to be reworked into something covering both the current care and maintenance of magical creatures as well as defensive theory for the more dangerous creatures within our world. The amount of workload involved is staggering.

"What I am suggesting would transform our out-dated curriculum into something Hogwarts could finally be proud of," Severus bites out snippily. "Fifty years of disjointed teaching has left our Defence position as little more than a joke and Care of Magical Creatures is considered a fluff subject students can take to avoid doing any actual work. In fact over half of our syllabus is a laughing stock; Sybill has about as much of an inner eye as I do, Cuthbert only seems to teach the Goblin rebellions and sends the students to sleep even during that and Muggle studies is taught by a pureblood with little or no actual knowledge of the Muggle world. The only classes worth attending before N.E.W.T level are Potions, Transfiguration and Charms!"

"That might be a slight exaggeration, Severus," I retort defensively, feeling distinctly stung by his sharp words. Problematically, I know the man has a point. That Hogwarts has been my home and my life for nigh on fifty years doesn't negate the fact that our syllabus seems to fall apart on close inspection. What are we actually teaching our students? "The Herbology course has ample theory and first-hand experience to be classed as worthy of attending surely?"

The slight cough from beside me brings my attention back to Remus who had been watching our interlude from the side-lines rather patiently. I'm rather abrubtly reminded that my whole reasoning for bringing Remus to Howarts was so that he could meet Harry, Bathilda and perhaps have a rather needed discussion about the potential issue that Sirius is innocent.

"This is all very interesting of course, Minerva," he remarks gently, "but rather off topic don't you think?"

"Of course, Remus. I do apologise, we seem to have become rather side-tracked," I smile apologetically at him. "It is an unfortunate side effect of being long term Hogwarts faculty I fear, the school rather becomes your life."

"I can see that," his smile takes the sting out of the words. "But if I am to become the new Defence teacher it isn't going to be in the next week surely. There is time to discuss anything that needs doing."

"You are of course correct, Remus." Severus has given me much to think upon, not least how to get any changes past the watchful eyes of Albus if Severus has so far failed. But now is not the time to be discussing it. "I believe I promised you a visit to Harry?"

"And his new guardian," Remus reminds me with a deceptive calmness in his tone.

"Of course," I respond quickly, shooting Severus a sharp glance as I do so. Not having yet told Remus that Bathilda is the approved guardian, this may be somewhat of a shock to the man. There's been enough badly delivered shocks for one day as it is. "And we need to have a serious conversation as well. Hear what she has to say first, but however we look at it something needs to be done about Sirius."

The wince from both men in the room is noticeable, although both for distinctly different reasons. Severus has loathed Sirius Black for near enough twenty years, Remus for ten. Severus' feelings may never change towards the man but Remus is going to have to face the possibility that he has been wrong all these years. That alone must be a bitter pill to swallow.

"Stop it, both of you. No matter your personal feelings towards the man he's spent ten years in Azkaban surrounded by those filthy, soul sucking creatures. Guilty or innocent, the very least we owe him is a trial." I look at both of them fiercely. "After all your talk of second chances, after everything that has been said, are neither of you even willing to hear the man out? He's not asking for a second chance. We never gave him one to start with!"

The shame in Remus' eyes is clear as the light of day, Severus is simply looking distinctly cornered. Being forced to confront the issues of two of his age of nemesis' in one go is perhaps a lot to ask of the man. I don't have a choice though. And talking of second chances…

"That's a point Severus. What did you do with the Dursley boy?"


	26. For a Dragon as For a Niffler

There's a long silence. Long enough that I recognise that Severus isn't going to answer my question about the Dursley's, at least not for now at any rate. Had Remus not been in the room I may have pushed the topic further, however there is a time and place for everything. It doesn't take a genius to note that Severus may have been pushed just about far enough for one day. Whatever Severus may have done with the boy, I am at least certain that he will be alive. And another day won't do any further harm.

"Before we go and see Harry, Remus," I change the subject swiftly, with a sharp glance at Severus to remind him that this topic has not been forgotten and will be re-visited in the near future, "there are some things that need to be discussed. Firstly, you have gathered that the child's treatment at the hands of his guardians has been far from ideal?"

That's potentially the understatement of the year, but once again there is no point in causing more unnecessary upset. Remus does need to know that Harry is not a re-incarnated version of James though. He nods sharply, eyes flaring once more with that strange amber light making me wonder just how close the wolf is to the surface of this mild mannered man. Had I perhaps missed the glimpses of it in years gone by, distracted instead by the more flashy and chaotic antics of the two boys he followed around?

"I know only what you have put down as part of your correspondence," he replies grimly with more than a small amount of a growl in his voice. "But yes, I had got that message indeed. Loud and clear, Minerva."

"Good. All you need to know is that he's not as…" I hesitate, fumbling for words for a moment. "He's not as, well… boisterous as James was at his age, Remus. He looks like James but… he's more…"

"He's more like you in honesty," Severus interjects dryly, taking me by surprise. "Shy, studious and bookwormish."

"Yes," I agree, still flummoxed by Severus' agreeable tone. "But he's nervous, Remus. You have to speak to him gently, don't make too many sudden moves or harsh demands. He well…he scares easily."

"Don't expect him to be like James, you mean?" Remus asks softly. "Remember, I knew Lily too, Minerva and she was nothing like James."

"I know, Remus, I know," I reply with a slight smile. "I just didn't want you to be caught unaware is all. The other matter that we need to discuss however would be the identity of his guardian…"

"You mean you haven't told him?" Severus bursts out in clear astonishment. "He doesn't know!?"

"Doesn't know what?" Remus asks quietly, his tone caught between concerned and annoyed, eyes glancing between myself and Severus warily. "What haven't you told me, Minerva?"

"Harry's guardian isn't quite what we had expected, Remus," I answer him slowly. "That isn't to say that she is unsuitable, just that it took both Severus and me by surprise when Amelia suggested her as a potential candidate. We have both come around to her way of thinking since, particularly since we watched a recent show down between her and…"

"Stop beating around the bush, Minerva," Remus interjects with a harsh note behind his words as his eyes flash fiercely. "Who is going to be looking after my cub?"

"Bathilda Bagshot," I say finally, more than aware that I was babbling and it doesn't suit me. "Bathilda will be taking Mister Potter's guardianship from the Christmas holidays, although of course there will be help from multiple quarters where required, myself included."

Watching the range of expressions fly across the normally passive and docile man's face gives me a fair impression of how Amelia must have felt watching both me and Severus when she made the announcement to us. First a blank look of shock, closely followed by utter disbelief but looking between both of our faces, neither smiling nor joking, a look of incomprehension finally settles on his face. Although, Remus at least isn't going to fly into the fit of anger that Severus did upon hearing the news, nor the cold suspicion that I met the suggestion with.

"Bathilda?" He asks in a tone of baffled non-comprehension, the question as clear in his face as in his voice. "Bagshot!? But she's…she was at least hundred and one when we were at school! She's got to be older than Albus! How is she going to manage to look after an eleven year old boy? What happens when he's fifteen? She's…she's…so old!"

"Oddly enough we are both more than capable of doing basic arithmetic, Lupin," Severus drawls in his usual sardonic fashion, completely ignoring the warning glance I send his way. "Just because you've been living under a rock, doesn't mean that we have been as well."

"I believe what Severus is attempting to say," I growl as I glare warningly at the other man to little effect, "is that neither of us have neglected to take into account Bathilda's age. It was a concern to begin with, but there will be support networks in place and she is, at least at present, as fit as a … well, fitter than most centurions anyway."

"No, Minerva," Severus responds with a smirk before Remus can get another word in. "What I meant to say was exactly what I did say, I'd thank you to note. We are both able to do basic arithmetic and it is therefore a small step to assume we had already noted Bathilda's age without the furball pointing it out."

"Strangely enough Severus," I murmur so only he can hear. "I believe Amelia can do simple arithmetic as well, not that you'd have known that from your reaction, might I say. Not all that long ago either. Strange that, isn't it?"

 

* * *

"Our newest and bestest friend!"

A howl of utter delight meets us as we enters the Gryffindor Common Room to my significant displeasure. The second voice chimes in just as clearly cutting above the chatter and general noises of the Common Room.

"Our brother in arms and comradiness against evil!"

I close my eyes in mute horror as the two red-haired twin menaces continue inexorably to their finale, clasping arms and bowing deeply to Remus, their identical noses near reaching their feet. Arms stretched wide they announce our presence to the Common Room loudly at large, now gone eerily silent as the assembled students take note of their Head of House and her unknown guest. So it is with every eye upon us the twins announce, once more in perfect unison.

"May we introduce you to Sir!"

The two twirl sideways around Remus, one to each side of the man, matching grins on both of their faces.

"Sir what, you ask?" Calls the one to the left who I assume for the sake of simplicity to be George.

"Sir who? Sir what? Sir wherefore?" The right hand side chimes in with an expansive wave of his hands.

"Sir Defence Against the Dark Arts!" They announce in unison, bounding back together in excitement. The silence of the Common Room is broken as many of the students break out into interested murmurs, looking at Remus with more interest now that he has a role in their lives. "Yes, you heard us right ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys! We have a new victim for the world's most dangerous teaching post!"

"Already somehow having earned the enmity of our most detestable Potions Ma-"

"Thank you Mister Gred and Mister Forge for that most excellent welcome," Remus interrupts their twinned monologue dryly. "I am sure you have some homework to set your brilliant young minds to now."

"Well no, actually," the one to the left says about as sweetly as one of the Weasley twins can manage. "Would you believe it, but we're fresh out of homework."

"Quidditch practice, now," the other one takes over smoothly, an almost innocent grin spreading slowly across his freckled face. "Now that's another matter. And we can see that you are busy doing boring professor stuff, so how's about a trade, my good man?"

"We go and knock some Bludgers around the field…"

"Just minding our own business and leaving you alone…"

"If you tell us…

"Whether you happen to be…

"One Remus Lupin?"

The wicked grins on both boys' faces say that they are fully aware of the effect they have caused. I know that I'd swear blind Remus' name wasn't brought up in front of them. From the look of pure surprise on Remus' face, I'm not the only one either.

"You must have got that from Molly or Arthur," I finally say slowly. "Found a fast owl to borrow I take it?"

Both of the twins just continue to smile those identical grins at us, mischief running down every line of their bodies. Two sets of eyebrows rise silently in unison as they stare at us. Remus stands straighter, moving forward silently but the boys don't move. It isn't until he's standing directly above them looking down on them with amber eyes flashing, not angrily but with a glint that I don't recognise, that they start to shuffle backwards uneasily.

"That would be Professor Lupin to you."

* * *

"Mister Potter, may I introduce you to Remus Lupin, he was a close friend of your parents."

Having sat young Potter down on his bunk, his eyes are darting nervously between me and Remus. The Weasley boy has perched protectively next to him and Longbottom is sat watching on the bunk opposite. The rest of the boys cleared out fairly quickly when they realised that their Head of House hadn't made a rare visit to the Dormitories for them, with barely a look back at Potter. Weasley and Longbottom however looked set to stay regardless of what I say.

"You…you knew my parents, Sir?" Potter's voice is so quiet both me and Remus lean in closer to hear him properly. "Really?"

Over the months I've been teaching him, I've kept a close eye on the boy but the look on his face takes me by surprise. I've seen him scared, I've seen him hurting, I've seen him studious and careful, anxious and even joyful when he's whipping through the air on his broom and all the cares of the world seem to fade from his shoulders. The look on his face now though is fascination and I realise that I've barely mentioned James and Lily to him. I've compared him to them often enough, but never sat down and discussed his parents with him. He must know nothing about them. After all, what would the Dursleys have told him?

"I did, Harry," Remus replies almost as softly as Potter himself, kneeling down on the floor in front of the bed that Potter and Weasley are sat on. His hands lie on his upper thighs almost calmly, but I can see the slight twitch running through his arms. "Is it ok if I call you Harry?"

Potter nods almost imperceptibly, his still so thin arms wrapped tightly around his tucked up legs. His bright green eyes are focussed entirely on Remus now, as if neither me nor the other Gryffindor boys exist, only this man who knew his parents. I could kick myself. Why didn't I think to tell him about his parents? I'd been so pre-occupied by the Dursley's and the horrors that he had suffered at their hands that I hadn't even thought about it. But it is the most natural thing in the world for a child to want to know what his parents were like, particularly when his next closest kin were so atrocious to him.

"I was one of James' closest friends at Hogwarts," Remus says with a gentle smile. "Before your mum, Lily, came along there were four of us and we used to be closer even than brothers." He looks closely at Harry and I can see his gaze running down the still so frail boy in front of him; so unlike the robust and carefree James and yet looking so similar. He seems to change conversation lines swiftly, as if realising how close he was to discussing the imprisoned Sirius and deceased Peter. Out of the four man band, he is the only one left to run around Hogwarts now. "I guess a lot of people have told you that you look exactly like James, have they?"

Again, an almost imperceptible nod, but this time Potter's lips move silently. He wets his lips and then stops, looking at me instead, questioning.

"Go ahead, Mister Potter," I remark gently. "Whatever you want to say, feel free."

"Except…" He wets his lips again and hesitates before continuing in that quiet voice. "Except my eyes. I have my mother's eyes?"

"You certainly have Lily's eyes, Harry," Remus answers with a slight smile, his voice warm and inviting. "The eyes that captivated James from the first moment he laid eyes on her and caused one of the most ridiculously convoluted and largely unsuccessful courtships in the history of Hogwarts. At least I assume that no one has managed to top his antics yet."

"Unsuccessful!?" The young Weasley boy near bellows from his perch on the bed, causing winces from all three of us closest to him. He blinks apologetically before continuing in a milder tone. "But, but... But didn't they get married, Sir!?"

"Indeed they did, Mr … well, it's got to be another Weasley hasn't it?" Remus says with a slight chuckle, real amusement glinting in his eyes. "Younger brother to the two twins, I would presume?"

"How d'you…" the boy starts in confusion.

"I've already had a run in with your incredibly memorable siblings, and the family resemblance is striking," Remus responds smoothly. "But to answer your question, yes, Lily and James did certainly get married but not until James had made an utter fool of himself chasing the poor girl for seven years running."

I can't help but share the smile as I think back to those early years, when both Lily and James were far too young to be involved with the Order of the Phoenix. Remus is right, by third and forth years even members of the Hogwarts faculty were taking bets under the table on what he'd do next. Half of us couldn't help but admire his persistence and the others found the entire thing rather hilarious in honesty; teenage courtship is rarely quite such the spectator sport that James Potter made it into. And Lily could certainly give back as good as she got, rarely needing to resort to hexes or jinxes instead relying on her quick wits and even sharper tongue. Remus looks back to Harry, a strange sad smile replacing the genuine humour in his face.

"It might interest you to learn Harry, that your mum wouldn't give James the time of day until well into her seventh year at Hogwarts. He tried everything short of love potions to get her attention, but Lily just wasn't interested. In fact I'm fairly confident that she actively disliked him for her first few years here."

"But… but… why did they get married then?" Harry asks in obvious confusion, eyes flitting between me and Remus. "Why did they have me?"

"Oh, believe me Harry," Remus hastens to reassure the boy, "by the time we all graduated, your mum and dad were the closest couple in the school. So deeply in love it was faintly nauseating to witness to tell you the truth, we all agreed."

He grins conspiratorially at Harry who returns the grin with a very faint smile of his own. I can't help but note that his arms loosen from around his legs into a slightly more relaxed posture. Why didn't I think to introduce him to Remus earlier? Or even think to just find the boy some pictures of his parents? I doubt he's ever even seen his mother and father, except for what he sees in the mirror; his father's face and his mother's eyes. That's certainly something we can fix; I've certainly got pictures somewhere but Bathilda has photo's that will show the boy just how deeply he was loved and by how many.

"But, it did take James a little while to get to the point where Lily would even countenance hanging around with us," Remus continued over my spiralling thoughts in a confidential tone, glancing across between the boys, including all of them in his next words. "Between you three and me, James was somewhat of a rogue at school. You think the Weasley twins know a thing or two about mischief?"

"Oh, they wrote the bleeding manual on mischief, I can tell you!" The Weasley lad snorts with a laugh, causing a slight giggle from both Longbottom and Potter. I smile at the sight, the so normal sight of the three boys sharing a joke. "Drive our poor mum barmy it does! She doesn't know what they're going to turn up with next!"

"Oh, you should have seen us all those years ago. The Mauraders we used to call ourselves, causing magic and mayhem, chaos and confusion from the top of the highest turret to the depths of the lowest dungeon of Hogwarts. Mischief was our name, chaos was our nature." He grins in a slightly self-depreciating way, clearly aware of how much awe is being radiated in his direction from the three boys sitting on bunks. "Well, less me than James and Si-."

He stops short, a dark and dangerous look crossing his face briefly. Luckily Potter's eyes were down a that precise moment, but the Weasley boy seems to catch it as he glowers at the man and moves protectively closer to the Potter boy. Longbottom just keeps on looking at Remus thoughtfully, taking everything in without saying a word or drawing attention to himself. Quiet enough to fade into the background, but there's an intensity on his young face that says he's paying attention. Quite a skill for one so young that is, I think broodingly. Watching without interfering, noticing everything for future use.

There's none of the hesitation and fear that he came to Hogwarts with in his posture or the constant uncertainty in those hazel eyes anymore though, and I suppress a grim but heart-felt smile. I was right in my judgement there at least, with a new wand came new abilities and his confidence followed shortly. He's not the most head-strong student in my class, but then that perhaps simply isn't in his nature. But there's a solid determination lying behind that easy going façade and I take pride in the knowledge that his quietness is not because he is afraid to speak his mind. It is simply that he waits until he knows that he has something to say.

"Well, I was always the bookworm," Remus continues with a tad more bluster in his tone, as if to cover for his slip of the tongue. "Out of all of us, I guess I was the boring one, always trying to bring order to chaos and inforce the rules regardless of how many times I was ignored… James, now James was the true force in the group."

"Like Hermione is the bookworm!" The Weasley boy blurts out in excitement. "It's like history repeats itself, Harry! There's four of us too!"

"Oh, I think you're much better off being yourselves than trying to be mini Mauraders," Remus remarks firmly. "We lost Gryffindor more House Points than you can imagine…and that's only in one year. I dread to think how many if you total them up over the seven years…"

"I believe that it would quickly run into the millions, Remus," I interject dryly. "And yes, it is bad enough that Gryffindor has the Weasley twins without adding a group of wannabe-Mauraders into the mix, believe you me. I am already in a perpetual state of confusion as to how the rest of Gryffindor successfully manage to cancel out the twins constant efforts to keep Gryffindor House in negative points as it is, thank you very much."

"You said there were four of you, Sir." The quiet but firm voice from behind both Weasley and Potter takes all of them by surprise, but not me. I've been watching Longbottom out of the corner of my eye and he's clearly been contemplating something that he considers important. I've been waiting for him to speak out. "You, Harry's dad and two others. What about the two others? You haven't mentioned them. What happened to them?"

"Well, well. Ah…" Remus runs down to a stop, looking at me in a frantic, helpless plea. I raise my eyebrows silently, looking at him in clear expectation. The message was clear; he'd have no help from me. Not yet, anyway. I wanted to see what he'd do. After all, I still needed to have a discussion with him about Sirius. "That all came after. A long time after."

"But surely Sir," Longbottom continues implacably, his hazel eyes fixed unblinkingly on Remus' amber ones. There's no obvious confrontation in his tone, in fact he's outwardly respectful, but there's something else there, something I can't quite put my finger on. And it's clear that he expects an answer and that being a mere eleven years old is not going to stop him from getting one. "Harry's dad cared about his friends, yes? So surely Harry deserves to know about them."

"Well, yes, umm Mister…"

"Longbottom, Sir. Mister Longbottom."

"Son of Alice and Frank Longbottom?" Remus asks, eyes brightening up once more. "Two of the strongest and best Auror's I've had the privilege to know, young man. I went to school with them as well you know, although I was several years below them. One of the true tragedies of the Great Wizarding War what happened to them."

"Thank you, Sir," Longbottom replies steadily, his smile shows that the compliment to his parents was appreciated, but gone is the boy so desperate for praise that even praise to his parents would do the job. "Why won't you tell us about Harry's dads other friends? They were your friends as well, Sir, surely?"

"They were, boy," Remus's answer when it finally comes is low and hoarse, pained to such a degree that Longbottom looks down to his feet, away from those anguished amber eyes. You can hear the hurt beneath his words even after all these years, the hurt and the grief and Longbottom knows both of those sensations well enough to recognise them on another. "That they were boy. We were closer than brothers. But betrayal can come from the unlikeliest of places. Betrayal and treachery and the destruction of all we held dear. Two dead because of that treachery and one as good as. That's why I don't mention their names."

"I'm sorry, Sir," Longbottom's voice is quiet and ashamed now, full of remorse. "I was rude. You have every right to your secrets. I should not have pried. Please forgive me."

"The fault is not yours, young man," Remus responds with a faint ghost of a smile. "You could ask any Professor of that time and they'd tell you all about the Mauraders. All four of us." He looks back to Potter, to his small form curled so miserably on the bed, those green eyes looking back at him with a mixture of hope and fear. He'd hoped to hear about his parents and instead had been dragged into old vendetta's and grudges. "That goes for you as well, Harry. I'm sure Professor McGonagall has more than a few tales from those days about all of us. And perhaps with less of the painful memories. They were good days. I just… it's just… those days are too painful for me in retrospect."

"There's someone else who can tell you about your parents as well," I say gently, and as those emerald eyes fly to mine with longing I feel true regret that I didn't offer this earlier. "There's someone we'd like to take you to meet, Mister Potter. She knew your parents very well. She knew you very well as a small child as well. If you'd like to accompany me to my office we can use my floo to go and see her."

The young boy's eyes flick to his two friends before flying back to mine.

"You are welcome to bring Mister Weasley and Mister Longbottom as well," I say with a smile, hoping Bathilda won't be too upset by this mass invasion of her home. I fear I don't have to think too hard to imagine how exasperated she is going to be though. "And I'm sure we can pick up Miss Granger on route as well."

Might as well be burnt for a dragon as for a niffler after all.


	27. Family Resemblance

And so it was that I led a gaggle of first years back up to my office, the Weasley lad excitedly filling in Miss Granger on the brief interlude with Remus that she'd missed. His description of events focussed largely on the description of the four of them as mini-Mauraders, much to Grangers clear and obvious disgust. It's only as we are walking that I realise that surely I have manipulated the boy in much the same way that Albus has done for so many years; I saw something that he wanted and I turned that to my advantage. But I haven't explained anything to him, I haven't explained why I really want him to meet Bathilda; I'm leading him into the situation blind and that simply isn't fair. It isn't fair on him and in honesty it isn't fair on Bathilda. If I bring Potter through to her, she will expect him to know at least the basics. That is my duty.

Shepherding the group through the doorway, I only just withhold the heartfelt groan as I glance towards my window. In all the excitement and chaos between Severus, Remus, the twins and then Mister Potter, I'd completely forgotten about Lockhart. Lockhart however had clearly not forgotten all about me and his screech owl is still sat outside my closed window, no less than three letters attached to its legs, and it is pecking solidly at the glass. I've been absent less than three hours. And Gilderoy bleeding Lockhart has written not one, not two, but three letters.

Sitting the three boys and Miss Granger down in seats around my desk with poor Remus left standing uncomfortably behind them, I quickly scribble out a couple of brusque, harsh words. My scrawl is heavy enough that the parchment threatens to tear, but once finished I roll it hastily and attach it to Pantherus.

"Knock him off his perch, my boy," I murmur quietly that the only person with any chance of catching my words is Remus with his scarily canine senses. "I know you've got the wing spread."

Unlatching the window and opening it briefly so Pantherus can fly free without allowing any annoying intruders back into my office space. I admit to a certain grim amusement as he opens his wings to their full impressive spread before swinging back around and knocking that screech owl neatly from its perch as he does so. There's a hoot of laughter from behind me, but I dare not turn around to reprimand anyone for fear they will see the smirk on my own face. The screech owl quickly regains its airborne balance and wings off after Pantherus, but the chances of catching him once Pantherus is afoot are slim beyond belief. Particularly with three paperweights slowing him down.

"Would any of you like a drink?" I ask, turning around now that I have full control of my expressions once more. "Pumpkin juice? Milk? Tea?"

All four students shake their heads silently, Miss Granger in particular looking caught somewhere between fear at being brought to her Head of House's office and fascination with the rows and rows of books lining the walls. A large proportion of my collection is of course Transfiguration based with critical works, new theories and implementations of old theories, legal tomes from throughout the ages and even simply essay collections from some of the top Transfigurations experts and Professors. There's at least one social history critique on the case of Thaddeus Thurkell hiding somewhere on those shelves as well. Fascinating case.

Some of these publications you could find in the main library, many you would not, some to either the restricted nature of the information such as that on Animagus transformations and even Petrification. The latter volumes wouldn't even be found in the Restricted Section and I own simply out of a scholar's interest in the theory and history, rather than any interest in performing such dark magic of course. Others are of no interest due to the out of date nature of the academia within them. From a historical perspective on Transfiguration of course however, they are fascinating. I strongly suspect that come seventh year I will be carefully lending books from my personal library out to Miss Granger; a Gryffindor with the head of a Ravenclaw indeed.

"Before we go any further, there is something important I must say regarding the witch we are about to visit," I begin, drawing all four of the youngsters eyes back to me without fail. "Firstly, Mister Potter, would you like your friends to stay with you or would you prefer to hear what I have to say in private? Either is fine and you can always ask me to relay the same information to your friends here if you choose to hear it first privately."

But before I have even finished the question, I can see what the boys answer is going to be. Neither Miss Granger nor Mister Weasley say a word, but his head is shaking before I have finished the question, anxiety clear as the light of day on his face. I could likely have predicted this, but I had to ask, had to give him the chance.

"Please Professor McGonagall," he mumbles to his feet, a breathy tone to his voice that wasn't there when he was speaking to Remus upstairs. "Please don't send my friends away."

"I have no intention of doing so, Mister Potter," I respond briskly, clipped tones announcing that the issue won't be raised again. "I merely had to offer you the option, that is all. Now…" How to phrase this. "I mentioned that Bathilda was a close friend to your parents when you were small, yes?"

I wait for the slight acknowledging nod, even though I know very well that I did. After all, it's rude to answer one's own question.

"She is more than that, Mister Potter," I continue smoothly. "Over the last several months we and the relevant departments of the Ministry of Magic have been looking to find you a suitable guardian and Professor Bagshot is one of the top possibilities…"

"But…!" The Weasley boys bellow cuts me off before I can say anything further. "Mum knows Bathilda Bagshot! She's ancient!"

"Thank you, Mister Weasley," I cut him off sharply, in a tone of voice that brooks no argument.

His mouth closes hastily, swallowing whatever further foolishness he was about to utter. I turn back to Mister Potter, unsurprised to see wariness and doubt rather than excitement in his eyes. I admit the Weasley boy has been very good for Potter over the last few months, but he really could learn to keep his mouth shut at opportune moments. But then, tact isn't in the twins repertoire either. And it could be worse.

"Mister Weasley here is at least partially correct," I start again with a smile at all three boys. "Bathilda is more of an age with Professor Dumbledore than she is with Mr and Mrs Weasley, however she has a lot of experience in fostering young wizarding children and she cares for you in particular very, very deeply."

I don't mention all of the other myriad reasons we have come to the conclusion that Bathilda is one of the best candidates; the political minefield of avoiding those either easily swayed by Albus or those with connections to the Dark Arts. He doesn't need to understand all of the very adult and very dark reasons behind the choice, he is far too young to be burdened by that knowledge. He needs to be reassured rather than persuaded at this juncture in time. And perhaps most importantly of all, he needs to feel slightly less powerless over the whole situation, slightly less caught up in the decisions of those bigger and stronger than himself with no influence over what happens. He needs to believe he has some control rather than being like flotsam in the tide.

"The decision isn't final, Mister Potter," I finally say calmly and soothingly watching his muscles tremble slightly as he sits so still and hunched on the chair. Those heart-breaking emerald eyes once more meet mine briefly, no tears in them now but definitely doubt, fear and helplessness there. He feels trapped, and I can't escape the pang of shame that this time, I am the one who has made this particular snare even if that was never my intention. My voice grows gentler still. "Come with me and meet Bathilda. There is nothing to be afraid of, we will all be there with you. You can come back any time. Just say the word, nobody will be upset or offended."

This time when the boy's eyes meet mine, I would swear that I can see a faint hope in them. I may of course be imagining it, but I don't think I am.

"I promise, Mister Potter," I say firmly but kindly, my eyes not leaving his. "We will not leave you there. You can leave at any time. No one is going to get upset with you. Do you remember what I said about my promises?"

"That you don't make them lightly, Professor," he replies softly, but he gives me a faint smile and my heart rises. He is beginning to trust me. Small steps, baby steps, but we are getting somewhere.

"Indeed, Mister Potter, that is correct," I respond with an answering smile. "So, shall we go now? And remember, if you want to leave just say the word. And if you find you can't say the word, how about you squeeze either mine or Remus Lupin's hand tightly? Do you think you could manage that?"

There's a slight pause before another answering nod and slight smile comes from the Potter boy. I would normally insist on a student expressing their wishes verbally, but Potter doesn't need any further pressure on him at the moment. After all this has to be stressful enough as it is. The least I can do is make things a little easier on the boy.

And so it is that I send warning first and then step through the floo, giving instructions to Remus to wait a couple of minutes so that I can brief Bathilda on the imminent invasion of her home. Well, it's something she's going to have to get used to anyway, so I can't feel too guilty about it. Remus will then send the children through one by one and finish by coming through behind them.

Stepping out into the same immaculately darkly furnished room as before, I look around quickly for Bathilda. I've told Remus to give it ten minutes and that if the boys get twitchy he can keep them occupied with some stories from the old days, most notably around the Mauraders although giving them no ideas if possible. I handed Miss Granger a second year Transfiguration book before I left the room and I suspect Remus will have a hard time getting her nose out of it for long enough to walk into the floo, but even without that, I would strongly suspect that she would sit quietly until called. Mister Weasley on the other hand is an entirely different matter.

"Ah, Minerva," Bathilda's sharp voice once more cracks out from the doorway and I realise that she must have done that deliberately. There is no way she could be in the exact same spot at the exact same moment without planning. Or perhaps this is the regular way perhaps that she answers the floo given warning and I have grown too cynical in my old age. Perhaps. "I take it from your brief and succinct warning call through that I have more company than just you expected."

"Indeed you do, Bathilda," I remark smoothly, refusing to be put off balance by the old witch. "Mister Potter and his friends will be joining me smoothly, followed by Remus Lupin. I thought this was an opportune time for the boy to meet all of his parents' old friends."

"How much does he know?" Bathilda's steely grey eyes flash suspiciously, and again I am reminded that age has not dulled this old witch in the slightest. Having watched her take on Albus and, by all accounts, win, how could I have any doubts about that? After all, I would not have permitted Harry's guardianship to progress this far unless I was sure of the old woman's wits and her sanity. The boy has been through enough without being made into a nurse for his old guardian. "How much have you told him?"

"He knows that you are currently the top choice for his guardian," I respond easily, watching the suspicion drain from the older woman's eyes as suddenly as it had arrived, her whole demeanour becoming welcoming once more. "And he knows that you were close to his Lily and James when he was young; I think he'd very much like to see some photos. I have also made it very clear to him that if he feels uncomfortable at any point he is simply to ask and we will take him back to Hogwarts. No questions, no fuss, no upset."

"Perfectly reasonable, Minerva," Bathilda agrees with a nod,. "I'll get some glasses and some pumpkin juice ready now.

With that she leaves me alone once more in the room, staring around at the myriad of pictures around the place in amazement because these are not the same photo's that I saw last time I entered this room. Two of the official photos of Bathilda have been kept and grace each side of the fireplace, but other than that, there isn't a picture here that doesn't include either Harry, James or Lily and many with all three of them. You'd be forgiven for assuming that Bathilda was Harry's grandmother with the almost maternal pride these pictures show, and if the message is clear to me I just hope it will be to Harry as well.

Bathilda comes back into the room just as the sound of the floo alerts us to our incoming arrivals. Mister Longbottom steps out of the floo first, neatly and cleanly with barely a flick of ash as he exits. The boy looks rather nervous at being the first one through into this unknown territory, but quickly locates Bathilda and steps forward with his hand outstretched.

"Neville Longbottom, Professor Bagshot," he introduces himself politely and officially, a trace of his own grandmothers tone in his voice. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Professor."

Bathilda accepts his hand with the gravity in which it has been offered with a slightly perplexed smile on her face at this overtly formal greeting from an eleven year old boy. But her years out of teaching haven't dulled her ability to judge children, and that perplexed smile is quickly masked. It's only as they are shaking hands that I realise that Bathilda isn't much taller than Neville is now. Her personality makes her seem so much, well, taller than she actually is. Her actual stature is almost childlike in height, far smaller than I seem to recall her being when she taught at Hogwarts. But then, perhaps to a child all adults seem like giants.

Miss Granger is the next to step out the floo, near falling as she tries to regain her balance on exiting but at least has the sense to look for a mat before traipsing left over ashes across the carpet. Mister Weasley has no such refinement however, and I can't help but sigh as his rather large feet for one so young traipse soot and ash with them without him even seeming to realise. I close my eyes momentarily and refrain from sighing heavily. Full marks to Mister Longbottom, I think and Miss Granger would pick up an Exceeds Expectations considering her muggle upbringing and lack of experience. A Troll grade would be fully appropriate for Mister Weasley however.

"Scourgify," I mutter softly as I point my wand at the afflicted areas of the carpet, just as Mister Potter comes spinning through with far less control of any of the other three, falling to his hands and knees heavily as he does.

I'm by his side quickly to get him standing, mess on the carpet all but forgotten; after all Remus will be coming through any minute now and the last thing anyone wants is a pile up in the chimney. Glancing quickly over the boy it doesn't look as though any harm has been done; just some soot on his robes and the shock of falling near face first onto a stranger's floor. The carpet saved him from scratching his hands in the way stone would have done. Thank Merlin for small mercies.

But whilst you might expect a yelp of surprise or shock, a cry of pain or even tears from the average eleven year old falling so unexpectedly, from young Potter there is nothing. His lips briefly press together and his eyes fall firmly to the ground in either fear or embarrassment, but there is no sound from the boy at all. He accepts my offered arm though, and rises back to his feet steadily. The sharp look Bathilda shoots me says that she has not missed that small interplay though and I will have some further searching questions to answer after the children have gone back to their dorms.

"Harry Potter, I presume," she says softly stepping forwards as Remus steps gracefully out of the fireplace behind us, making not a sound as he does so. Harry shuffles a tiny bit closer to me as the older woman comes closer, but she stops an arms distance away, looking at him closely and I certainly don't miss the longing in her eyes. Nor do I miss the sadness. "Harry James Potter, named for your father as surely as you bear the seal of his features. How about we find you a mug of pumpkin juice or perhaps tea?"

"Pu-pumpkin juice, please, Professor Bagshot," Harry stammers out nervously, and Bathilda strides out of the room, returning swiftly with four glasses of pumpkin juice following lazily behind her.

Beckoning us out the room and through into the rest of the house, each of the children grab a glass that now floats in front of them before following in a rather haphazard group, myself and Remus bringing up the rear. We follow them through to a small but tidy sitting room where Bathilda moves the seats into a neat circle of six for all of us to sit on. The children sit uneasily in seats, Weasley sitting directly next to Bathilda, Potter next to him and the other two sit down in the adjacent seats. With a swift motion of the older woman's hand a photo album glides lazily across the room where she catches it with ease.

"Come on you two," she points at the Potter and Weasley boy briskly, "I can hardly show young Harry here these photo's if he's sat all the way over there now, can I?"

Rather sheepishly, the two boys swap places, so that the Potter boy is now sitting next to Bathilda.

"So, which photos would you like to see?" She asks casually. "I have pictures going back to baby pictures of James with your grandparents. Of course there are quite a few of young James with his Hogwarts friends, all four of them thick as thieves they were and likely as guilty half the time." She glances sharply across towards Remus meeting his eyes squarely, those sharp grey eyes glinting sharply. "Of course, the one crime you could never accuse James, Remus or Sirius of would be betraying the other. They'd all take double punishment rather than sell out any of their group. Many things changed over the years, but that never did."

The message behind her words is clear, even if the children won't be able to read behind the lines. The more Bathilda says the more clearer it becomes that out of all of us, she perhaps is the only one who has never believed in Sirius' guilt. I don't know what I think, for so many years I have accepted that one basic fact without even thinking. But even if the man is guilty, without any doubt, he should have had a trial. It seems almost unthinkable that someone, anyone, no matter how vile, could have rotted in that awful hell hole of a place without even a chance to prove their innocence. For a crime of that magnitude the full Wizengamot should have been called out.

Remus' amber eyes flicker down, unable to hold the old womans fiercely intelligent gaze, but he says nothing. I cannot tell if it is anger or shame that is behind his unwillingness to hold her gaze, or perhaps both. Emotions don't have to be rational or logical to be real.

"And of course I have pictures of your mother," Bathilda continues quietly, eyes once more on young Harry, as if that silent interchange with Remus had never happened. "A bright and capable young woman when I met her, quick with her tongue and just as smart with her wand yet head over heels in love with your father. A favourite of many of her teachers and yet although she knew it, she was never one to gloat about her own abilities or to assume anyone else lesser than herself because of them."

As she speaks, the old woman flips rapidly through the photo album, her gaze sharp and attentive to the way Mister Potter looks so hungrily at the images flashing so quickly past him. She stops suddenly on one of the later photo's in the album, a perfectly normal photo of Lily dandling what looks to be a six month year old Harry on her knee, perhaps singing a rhyme as she did so. A simple shot of a mother and a child doing what every mother and child the world over do every day of every year and the delight on both mother and sons face was undeniable.

"She loved you too, my boy," Bathilda says softly, leaving the book open on that everyday photo of a mothers love, her gaze not leaving the child sat next to her, his tousled dark hair sticking out in tufts just like James' used to at the same age. With his head down like that, so intent on that book, he could almost be his father although you would never get James to sit still for so long. And for some reason I don't think James ever looked so fragile. "You were the apple of her eye, her green eyed little bundle of joy."

Flipping the page over with a quick gesture, the next photo is one of James, his face alight with sheer delight, flipping a young child with bright emerald eyes between his legs and then up over his shoulder as the boy laughs with abandon. The same motion done over and over in the photo as if there was nothing in the world that this man and this boy would prefer to be doing. Because of course, there wasn't. To James, Harry and Lily were his whole world and he wouldn't have changed that for the world.

Those same emerald eyes meet first Bathilda's gaze and then mine, then fly back hungrily to the page in front of him. His hand reaches out tentatively near but not quite touching the image of father and son in front of him, fingers almost brushing across his father's face with reverence. The shy smile that spreads across the young boys face makes him look more like Lily with her softness and caring that James with his brash and bold manner. My heart near breaks again at the site of this boy, seeing his father truly for the first time since being a babe in arms.

"That's…that's my Dad?" He asks in a hushed, near fervent voice, his eyes still not leaving the image of his father so adoringly playing toss the child, as only a wizard could. But playing a game that both muggles and wizards would play with their small ones, a game young Potter had likely watched his wretched Aunt and Uncle play with their own son. But never with him. The similarities between the boy and the man are undeniable, looking between that photo of years gone past and the boy sat so quietly in front of us now. "And…and that's me?"

"Do you think you had a twin?" Bathilda asks, and although the words could have been sharp, her voice is not and her smile is for Harry and Harry alone. "You had your mother's eyes even at that age."

She flips the page again and there's a picture of three young men, smiling as if they didn't have a care in the world, despite the war that was going on around them. James to the left, and to the right a sandy haired young man already with lines making him look older than his years even then. The amber eyes are what does it though and Harry looks up shyly at Remus who nods slightly, a rather forced smile on his face. I know why his smile is forced. And I'm beginning to realise just how on the ball Bathilda really is. Because there's no way this wasn't deliberate. The young man in the middle of the group has an aristocratic, handsome face that made the girls swoon around his feet and striking grey eyes that are alight with laughter and love. Eyes that are so alive, so in the present. Eyes that

The photo must have been taken mere months before the betrayal of the Potter family and yet you wouldn't imagine that treachery could ever be in this young man's mind. As he rocks a slumbering Harry gently, the men are clearly talking amongst themselves, quietly so as to not wake the child. It would be hard to say who looks more proud of the child in his arms; the father James or the… The child's Godfather, who had sworn to protect him with both his magic and his life. I can almost hear them plotting this mini-Marauder's footsteps through life whilst the child sleeps through, unbeknownst of the hopes that are being pinned on his small head.

"Sirius…"

The word is hissed between clenched teeth, half in pain and half in long held rage and fury, as those amber eyes flash dangerously. But beneath both there is the unmistakable tint of betrayal, a betrayal that destroyed that set of boys and men who loved each other like brothers. A betrayal that Remus will never be able to forgive. Not that I can blame him. That betrayal cost him everything he held dear in one foul swoop.

"You were loved by them all as a son, my boy," Bathilda speaks over Remus' inarticulate rage casually, as if she hadn't opened old scars wide with a single photo. Her words are soft and precise and her eyes never leave young Potter, who is drinking her words in as if they were the first water he had found in a desert. But I have no doubt that those careful words are not meant solely for the Potter boy. "And they loved each other as brothers, they did, all three of them. They had a bond stronger than I had seen in many a year, not since another pair of friends who might as well have been brothers."

There is nothing for me or Remus to say or do except sit quietly as Bathilda works through the photo album, nearly all of the photo's having the young Sirius in them somewhere. Whether he's messing with that infernal motorcycle in the background or right in the forefront, laughing with James, teasing Lily or playing with Harry. There's a shot of all of them sat around the dinner table; Harry in his high chair with toys dancing around his face and his food forgotten, Lily clearly snapping at either Sirius or James both of whom have collapsed against the table and are laughing like loons whilst Remus reads a tome bigger than his head and I swear I see him roll his eyes at the antics in front of him. There's shots of them covered in food that Harry has clearly thrown and had the shot been taken seconds later I suspect we'd see Sirius throwing food back.

It's only when we've near reached the end of the album that I realise that there is something is missing from the plethora of friendships and memories. Someone is missing. James, Lily, and Harry are in most if not all of the photos, Sirius and Remus are in many, Bathilda and even a decade younger version of myself are in some of them. Alice and Frank Longbottom and even flashes of Marlene McKinnon, Mary McDonald and Emmeline Vance occasionally throughout the photos. Face after face of many long dead and buried, many that I taught, all that I thought well of. But one face is missing.

But I say nothing, simply sitting and smiling as Bathilda goes through this book of memories. But as I show the children back through the fireplace and out of my office, the thought niggles at me, to the degree that I let Miss Granger borrow not one but two of my transfiguration texts. She practically skips out of my office, yet I can't bring myself to smile.

It would be less obvious if the boy hadn't spent so much time attached to James and Sirius.

He should be in at least half of the photos. And yet, he's in none of them.

Nothing Bathilda does isn't planned. She's proven that.

Stepping back through the fireplace to where I left Bathilda and Remus, I march through to the sitting room, thoughts swirling rapidly through my mind. The room is silent now, with Remus flicking through the photo album and Bathilda simply sitting and sipping her tea. My voice when it comes is cold and cuts across the silence like a whip.

"Peter Pettigrew."

Remus' head shoots up at that name so rarely mentioned. Bathilda's face meets mine more slowly and is far more telling by just how little emotion she shows. Somehow I get the impression that I wasn't supposed to pick up on that missing face, that missing boy. But he was one of mine and his face is one of the many that haunt my dreams.

"Peter. Have you not saved a single photo of him?"


	28. Padfoot, Moony, Prongs and Wormtail

The silence in the room builds oppressively around us, Bathilda staring down at the photos of a happier time silently, Lupin's gaze flicking uncertainly between myself and the older woman. So embroiled is the man in his own torments and history that he can't see what is so burningly obvious to me. Peter was always by either James' or Sirius' side, he was often on the side-lines admittedly but he was always there; if you saw James, you knew that Sirius and Peter at least would be close at hand. Remus was often found in the library on his own, but Peter was rarely anywhere but dogging the other boys heels. He wanted nothing more but to bask in his companions combined glory it seemed, regardless of the paths that glory oft took them down.

"Peter hero worshipped both James and Sirius, Bathilda," I say sharply, my tone more cutting than is perhaps wise. But something isn't right here and I need to know what it is. "Why do your albums show countless photo's of a condemned traitor and murderer, and yet none of an innocent that died at his hand?"

"Innocent?" Her voice is sharper even than mine, like a whip across the room and her eyes as they meet mine are as cold as ice, as merciless as a dementor itself. "You think that spineless weasel is innocent?

The bark of laughter Bathilda lets loose has no merriment or joy in it. It's cold and bitter, both anger and powerlessness running not all that far beneath the surface. Remus' head cocks in a distinctly canine fashion; always more perceptive to both sounds and scents than any non-affected human, he cannot have missed the discordant tones in her voice. He cannot have missed the rage or the bitterness that even I can hear so clearly.

"The innocent is the one left rotting in Azkaban, forgotten by his so called friends, his guilt never so much as doubted. You cannot speak to me of innocence, Minerva."

Those grey eyes meet my own solidly and I am taken aback by the sheer amount of condemnation in them. But more hurtful perhaps even than the condemnation is the disappointment. It has been many a year since anyone has seen fit to look at me with such disappointment, ignoring Albus' blatant attempts at manipulation of course. To have received such a gaze from someone I have respected so highly since my own schooling days is surprisingly painful. Those eyes of merciless stone leave mine and fix instead on Remus' amber gaze with such force that he actively flinches backwards.

"Nor you, Remus Lupin," Bathilda near spits venomously, her voice like the rasp of steel on granite as she turns her attention to him. "You are both as guilty as each other of not looking any further than the ends of your own nose."

"He laughed!" Remus's voice as he interrupts is filled with age old pain and grief, the grief of a man who lost everything that fateful day and has never managed to get any of it back. "Sirius laughed! James and Lily dead, Harry survived by Merlin knows what magic, Peter blown to smithereens by his Sirius' wand hand and he laughs! Laughs!"

"You think you lost a lot that night do you?" she asks coldly.

Bathilda's voice is still as sharp as I have ever heard from her, but her eyes seem filled with sadness rather than condemnation now. Remus makes as if to speak but the older woman hushes him with a sharp wave of her hand, much like she had done to the far more powerful Albus not all that long before. As Remus' mouth snaps shut automatically, I am reminded again that this is a woman with more power and influence than it seems at first glance.

"And you lost a great deal, I'll give you that." She continues more softly, her voice gentle but her eyes hard. "But Sirius? Sirius now, he lost more than just James and Lily taken from him so tragically. Sirius lost those who were still alive as well. You had a choice, Remus Lupin."

The photo album slams down on a photo of James and Sirius wrestling energetically on the floor, Remus standing off to one side with his hand covering his face, the smile showing in his eyes glinting through. Late teens by the looks of it, perhaps even fledgling adults, but certainly not long out of Hogwarts if at all. Both boys' faces are alight with the simple joy of living, matching grins on their faces as they playfully struggle for dominance, neither boy managing to get the better of each other. Both perfectly matched, evenly weighted, joined as brothers.

"James would have fought for him," Bathilda continues with a slight tremor in her voice, almost unnoticeable unless you were listening carefully but neither me nor Remus can do anything but listen carefully. "If it had been you Remus, James would have fought for you. He would never have let you rot in that place without a fight. He would never have just given up on you."

"James is dead!" Remus shouts angrily, his amber eyes flashing vehemently and voice rising in intensity and stridency as he rises slightly from the chair. My eyebrows raise silently, watching the normally so placid man rise to the bait that Bathilda has so obviously placed in front of him. "James is dead! James if dead and Sirius… Sirius is…"

"Sirius is trapped in a world of hopelessness and desolation utterly alone," Bathilda finishes his sentence quietly but firmly, eyes drilling into Remus' with no less intensity than his own. "Sirius is abandoned by the friends he would have died for, reviled by the very people he trusted, despised by those he loved and respected. Who lost the most, Remus?"

"Sirius killed them! He killed them and then he laughed!" Remus can't keep the long held hatred or anguish from his voice, but beneath it I can detect something else. Fear? Because if Bathilda is right then we deserve her condemnation. "He betrayed us all and it cost James his life!"

"Do you really believe that?" Bathilda asks quietly. "Do you truly in your heart of hearts believe that Sirius turned to the Death Eaters? That he would took a mask and joined He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's faceless followers, betrayed all he held dear for a cause he openly espoused hatred for? A cause that he left his parents' house because of; their pure-blood mania and agenda of purification by force was something that he wouldn't stand for. He walked away from his entire family in the full knowledge that he would be disowned. Does that count for nothing?"

"The evidence was pretty compelling, Bathilda," I speak before Remus can make his mouth work again, cutting across the garbled retorts that he is trying to form. "You can't deny that."

"What evidence!?" Her voice is once more sharp and cutting, her steely eyes cold and determined as she turns back to me. "What evidence do you have to say that Sirius Black is a betrayer and a murderer, a Death Eater and a spy? What proof do you have that he is a traitor?"

"Someone was passing over information," Remus growls gruffly, he voice deep and resonant with barely suppressed rage. "And Sirius was the Potter's Secret-Keeper. James was determined that it should be Sirius. Dumbledore even volunteered to take his place…"

"Don't you get me started on Albus Dumbledore," Bathilda snaps with almost as much rage as Remus himself, contempt spilling over with no attempt at concealment. "But what evidence do you have? What proof? Someone was passing information? Who? Sirius? Do you know that? Have you ever asked him? Has it ever been proven?"

"How could I have asked him?" Remus snarls back, his voice nearly a bark. "He was rotting in Azkaban like the traitorous slime deserved!"

"Are you certain Sirius was still the Secret-Keeper on Halloween?" Bathilda continues more calmly, as if Remus had not said a word. "There was no trial, no Veritaserum, no examining of memories or cross-questioning of witnesses. Nobody has ever asked him. None of you even cared enough to ask!"

"What does this have to do with Peter, Bathilda," I say sharply, drawing the topic away from these pointless accusations which will do little but further rile Remus. "The boy was undoubtedly foolish and certainly not in either James or Sirius' league, but his hero-worship was real enough. The reports said he screamed at Black; his anguish seemed real enough and he paid for it with his life."

"His hero-worship was only real enough for as long as James and Sirius were the biggest bullies on the playground," Bathilda spat out, contempt and disgust dripping from her words like poison. "He wanted nothing more than to be seen with the ones at the top of the food chain, and Sirius and James were certainly that, weren't they?" Her eyes shift, from me to Remus and then back to me. "Shallow, arrogant and outright cruel at times, no one can deny that, least of all you Minerva. Spiteful in their mockery, merciless in their taunting. You saw them more than anyone else. They were the top of the pack and Peter was happy to run at their heels. Right?"

That's a downright brutal assessment of not just Peter, but also of James and Sirius and it isn't one that Bathilda would have seen at home. At home they were surrounded by James' loving parents and friends, allies or perhaps even lackeys. Lily must have shared more with Bathilda than simply James' love and care towards her and her child. Or perhaps James had been just as arrogant at home, just as willful and thoughtless of others feelings, just as spoiled. And Sirius had all the bearings of an aristocratic family. He knew where he stood in the world's pecking order and it was right at the top. Is it surprising that Bathilda saw through them?

Bathilda's assessment may have been brutal and is certainly nothing akin to what she said to young Harry, but it is also true. James and Sirius could be cruel and heartless, they could certainly be bullies and the two of them got a lot more leniency than they really should have from all of us because they were so personable. I was no less guilty than any of the other Professors, and I should have known better. But if she is right about James and Sirius then what does that mean for her assessment of Peter. And in fact, is it that far off from my own assessment earlier on? Did I not think that Peter basked in the other boys combined glory, dogged their heels? But what does that have to do with Sirius?

"James and Sirius were no longer the biggest bullies around," Bathilda says dangerously quietly, her voice barely louder than a whisper. I close my eyes at the realisation of what Bathilda is saying. At how much sense it makes. "There was a new bully on the top of the food chain and Peter always wanted to be with the most powerful. Do you really think that the whimpering Peter Pettigrew would have gone chasing after Sirius trying to kill him? When did you ever see Peter take anyone on? He cheered from the side-lines and bought the celebratory Firewhiskey. He didn't throw the punches."

"But if Pettigrew didn't chase after Black…" I murmur quietly. "Then…"

"Sirius went after Peter." The torment in Remus' voice is painful to hear, the anguish and suffering in his face heart-breaking to witness. "Sirius went after Peter. It makes sense. I just… He can't have… Why didn't he…"

"Why didn't he tell you?" Bathilda asks more gently now, her eyes warmer, gentler. She's made headway this day and there's no point slicing that knife in deeper. Bathilda is many things but she is not heartless, she is not cruel without purpose. "When was Sirius prone to sitting down and thinking things through before acting? The boy was an idiot!"

That gets a pained grunt of laughter from Remus, the breath pushed almost unwillingly out of his chest as he looks down at his hands. Thin and weary hands, old before their time, not the hands of someone barely in his thirties. Hands that are clenched tightly together, fingers interlocked so tightly they are as white as bone.

"True enough," Remus says slowly, softly, with none of the fire of his previous words. "Thinking through the consequences of his actions was never Sirius' strong suit. Nor James' for that matter. That was always mine and Lily's forte."

"What do you mean?" I ask, not bothering to hide my confusion. Somehow these two have come to a conclusion unanimously, but as neither have actually explained it I still feel one step behind them, unable to keep up with their silent conclusions. "What didn't Sirius tell you?"

"The story was that Peter went after Sirius, knowing he was the Secret-Keeper, in fury driven grief and despair," Remus' voice is flat and expressionless but there's something flashing in those golden eyes, something that I can't quite place but fills me with a kind of dread I that lingers beneath the surface. "That he tracked him down, after all Peter was always very good at tracking things down. That he screamed his challenge for the world to hear; that Sirius had killed James and Lily. But he never stood a chance in an even fight and Sirius blew him apart. That's what we've believed all these years. What doesn't fit here, Minerva?"

"I don't know," I admit in since bafflement. To my shame I have to admit to not knowing Pettigrew all that well. He was never one of the most promising students and he was always good at gliding along in the background, staying unseen, laughing at the sidelines rather than being at the forefront. And suddenly, I think I've got it. It makes sense. "The background," I whisper. "Pettigrew always stayed in the background."

"Sirius though," Bathilda says with unmistakable satisfaction in her tone. She's got us and she knows it. Neither of us will be able to ignore "Sirius was more of a charge in screaming, regardless of the consequences, kind of man."

"So what happens if it's Sirius who goes after Peter in grief and rage, vowing to kill him in vengeance?" Remus continues in that same bland voice, but there's no mistaking the emotions boiling beneath the surface. He's desperately holding himself in check and only just managing. "It doesn't take much to imagine that of Sirius, whilst it's a huge leap to imagine the Peter doing the same. Peter would rather scurry into the shadows than make a public scene. But when cornered, he'd go down with a fight."

"But the explosion?" I reply.

"Now that might well have been Sirius," Bathilda says dryly. "I can't comment on that one."

"It's the sort of bloody stupid thing he'd do in a rage," Remus agrees with a grimace. "Although I can't imagine him deliberately killing muggles. There's no sport in it for a start."

"He might not have been thinking at all," I suggest. After all, not thinking was something for which Black was quite well renowned. One only had to think of a certain occasion with a Whomping Willow, a werewolf and a particularly despised student to remember that. In fact, one only had to think of the majority of his schooling. "It was within hours of him finding out that his best friend had been killed after all."

"But, did anyone bother to actually check his wand?" Bathilda points out grimly. "With no trial we can't even be sure of that fact."

"But what happened to Pettigrew then?" I ask the obvious question, the sensible question, the question anyone would ask. "After all, the only thing that was left of him was his right index finger. You can hardly expect me to believe he blew himself up even if I can believe he was powerful enough for that blast. Although I suppose it might be preferable to the wrath of one of the Black family on the warpath."

The words that come out of Remus' mouth are not phrases I would ever expect the gentle and bookish man to come out with. My hand flies to my mouth without any thought on my behalf; I can't believe what my ears are hearing. Many I recognise although several I wish I didn't, some are an education even to me and I've been in teaching too long for many words to be an education to me. I turn in shock to Bathilda, expecting to see the same horror reflected on her face as must be on mine, but to my shock she's simply smiling at the younger man.

"Remus John Lupin!" I snap, the weight of the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts behind my tone and the thin, worn mans mouth snaps shut as he swings to face me. But there isn't guilt or even shame on his face. There is unadulterated rage. This is the man I saw the days after James and Lily's funeral. The man who would have committed murder with his own hands if the object of his fury wasn't already incarcerated in a cell where he couldn't get to him. The feral fury on his face is frightening in its intensity. But I will not take that language from my boys and I will certainly not accept it from grown men. "You are not too big for a Scourgify Charm to wash that foulness out!"

The man growls, a full on canine snarl that doesn't sound like it could have erupted from a human voicebox. Despite the fact that I know that the full moon is another full week away, I can't help the nervous twitch that runs through my body. I've never seen a werewolf after the transformation and watching the man in front of me as his hackles physically rise with the squaring of his shoulders and bearing of teeth, I hope I never have to in the future. Perhaps there's a reason why Remus keeps his emotions so deeply under wraps that they rarely reach the surface. His nature is to be a pacifist and that's what he works so hard for. That doesn't mean that the wolf within isn't screaming to kill. And the wolf within is certainly screaming right now.

"That back stabbing, verminous treacherous piece of slime," Remus snarls, eyes flashing furiously, hands clenched tight. He whirls and begins pacing the room, murder in those eyes. "The dirt sucking, sludge grubbing, scrabbling little scum scraper."

"Slow down, Remus," I say more gently, concern evident in my tone. I have rarely seen Remus angry let alone like this. "Unpack for us."

"I think Remus has just come to his own conclusion about Peter Pettigrew," Bathilda says with an unmistakable look of grim satisfaction on her face. "I wondered if…"

"Wondered if what?" I ask sharply as the older woman tails off with a glance sideways to Remus. The inference is clear. Whatever it is she wondered, it is Remus' place to tell. I turn to him, but his attention is fixed on the old witch, a look of dawning horror on his face. "Remus?"

"You knew that James and Sirius…" Remus tails off as well, completely ignoring the warning note in my tone. "You knew about me?"

"I knew about you and Sirius," Bathilda says with a tight smile. "I guessed that James wouldn't have been left out of it. But Peter…I never knew about Peter…I never thought he had the talent."

"How did you…?" The surprise and horror in Remus' tone would have been amusing if I had any clue what was going on. "What gave us away?"

"It wasn't all that difficult my boy." The older woman replies wryly. "After all, I was fairly confident you didn't own a rabbit, let alone a badly behaved one."

"But Sirius…" He asks wildly. "And, why didn't you report us?"

"Would one of you please care to explain what you are going on about?" I snap, interrupting this cryptic and infuriating conversation that I seem to have no place in. "Preferably before I have to hold you upside down by your ankles Remus Lupin?"

Remus turns to me as if only just remembering that I am even in the room. His mouth snaps shut with a start and his eyes flicker down the floor before coming back up to meet my own infuriated gaze. The anger that had completely overtaken him mere minutes before has been replaced by bewilderment but his face seems to drain of colour as he looks at me now, his eyes close silently for a few seconds.

"Ah, Minerva," he says slowly, carefully. "Perhaps you would take a glass of Firewhiskey?"

Before he's even finished speaking, the glass is in front of me and I glance towards Bathilda who has that same grim smile on her face. I take the glass but don't drink from it, instead fixing my former student and my former tutor with one of my sternest glares before I speak in a withering tone.

"Pray tell, just what is going on?"

Remus clears his throat as his eyes dart around the room, almost looking for an escape. He looks beseechingly at Bathilda but there is no help from that quarter and finally his eyes lock back on my own. The rage and fury has for the moment completely vanished, to be replaced by something akin to shame. Shame and is that perhaps regret that I see? Or is it just dread?

"I should have told you when we were in school," he begins haltingly, stammering to a stop only seconds after school. "I certainly should have told you after Sirius was arrested… But I didn't want to disappoint you. Particularly after you and Albus had risked so much to keep me at Hogwarts."

"Tell me what, Remus Lupin," I interrupt coldly, determined to get to the bottom of this before midnight which would be impossible at Remus' current pace of events.

"You know how you said that it would be impossible for a student to become an animagus before seventh year without professional assistance?" Remus said softly as my heart plummets through my stomach. "Ah, you were, uh, wrong?"

I down the Firewhiskey in a single gulp and without a word hold the glass out for a refill. I say nothing as the potent liquid reaches the rim of the glass. Only then do I meet Remus' amber eyes. I don't know what he sees in my own eyes, I dread to think for he flinches backwards slightly.

"All of you?" I ask gruffly, my throat harsh with both Firewhiskey and a dull, burning anger that I cannot quite explain. "The four of you?"

"James, Sirius and Peter," Remus clarifies softly, his eyes not meeting mine. "When they discovered about my… well… what I am… they…"

I can fill in the gaps well enough. It doesn't take too much effort really. I down the second Firewhiskey as quickly as the first.

"And what form did they all take?" I place the glass carefully on the table, although Remus still flinches as it clunks against the table. "You a wolf… Moony."

"James a stag…" Remus continued quietly, "…and Sirius a dog."

"Prongs and Padfoot" I almost whisper, the decade old nicknames springing easily to my lips. Nicknames that I never could to understand, but now make near perfect sense in light of this new information. I look up at Remus sharply once more. "Wormtail…?"

"Peter," the younger man confirms tiredly. "He was a rat. That was his natural form. Scuttling around in the tunnels, finding the secrets that everyone took so much care to hide."

"And you think what?" I snap forcefully. "That Peter cut off his own finger, blew up the street killing a dozen muggles then turned into a rat and fled!?"

It sounds ludicrous to my own ears but both Bathilda and Remus are looking at me as if I have finally cottoned on to what they have been talking about all this time. I don't know whether to scream or weep. The entirety of Bathilda's basis for Sirius being innocent hinges on this story that could have been made up by a madman. Except then I remember that the entire basis hinges on the far more basic premise that Sirius would not have betrayed James. Bathilda herself said it was more than possible that Sirius blew up the street himself. This is just whimsical fancy.

But looking at the two faces in front of me I have a sinking feeling who is going to be responsible for approaching Amelia Bones.

I pick up the whiskey glass once more.


	29. Softly Softly Catches a Rat...

Between preparation and classes, I've only written half of my letter to Amelia when the Weasley twins appear simultaneously at my door for their detention. Well, that isn't quite true. I've written about six different attempts at this letter and all of them sound just as ridiculous as the next. Sirius being innocent of betraying the Potters is easy to imagine although not so easy to put into words on the paper. Everything hinges on our personal assessment of his character, but surely that is more than compelling enough to instigate at least a trial on his behalf. The problem comes with Peter Pettigrew and the explosion. There were witnesses to that event and to a man they agree that it was Sirius who cast the blasting curse.

Twelve muggles paid for being in the wrong place at the wrong time with their lives. And that was the kind of thing he might have done in a rage, as Bathilda and Remus both conceded. That's the only truthful assessment we can make. The logical explanation is therefore that Sirius hunted down Pettigrew and murdered him in cold blood for his betrayal of the Potters. Thus far everything is logical. The whimsical fancy, albeit a Grimm form of whimsy, of Animagi and self-mutilation that Remus has put on the table is an entirely different cauldron of frogspawn though. Amelia is going to laugh me out of the building. But they were most certainly Animagi. I have Remus' solemn and rather shameful vow on that. The rest is still mere conjecture though.

It isn't until we're an hour into the detention that I realise the twins have been unbelievably well behaved. Having set them the task of cataloguing my bookcases in alphabetical order and according to genre, I'd forgotten about them in my attempt to write this thrice damned letter. And the Weasley twins don't usually let you forget about them. That's why I couldn't find anyone else willing to cover this particular detention for me; astonishing what excuses can be pulled out the woodwork up to and including a necessity for pruning her Eon Roses.

However except for hissing softly at each other at regular intervals, they are almost as quiet as a pair of mice. I don't like it when those two are too quiet for their own good. It means they're up to something that they don't wish for prying ears to hear, and that is always dangerous.

Without glancing up, I extend my senses towards them. Not magic as such, just an awareness of what is there and using the innate magic surrounding us to strengthen my own senses. Even with that though I can't make a lot of sense out of the fragments of speech I can pick out. They're speaking so softly, even my well-honed ears are struggling.

"We should…" "But she'll take…" "…other option…" "…anyone else…" ""What can we…"

What I can deduce is that they're not plotting a prank or mischief as much as they're concerned about something. Glancing up from my writing, I see they have they're heads so close together as to almost be sharing the same space. No wonder I can't make out a great deal of what they are saying; they're virtually close enough to mind read. As I watch them, one of them glances up at me briefly, catches my eye and looks straight down again. Both of them fall deathly silent.

"Ok, boys," I stand and call across to them, letting a note of jaded weariness escape into my voice without being aware that it even existed. "Let's hear it then."

After a new spurt of whispering, there's another sudden, hushed silence from the two boys crouched down by the bookcase. Both of them look up to me and then back to each other and I can sense rather than see them hunkering down as if to protect a secret.

"Accio Parchment," I say simply with a quick flick of my wand. It flies out of their hands and I catch it neatly. "Let's have a look at this then."

I don't need to use the verbal incantation in reality, but non-verbal summoning is beyond a third year's comprehension. Even third years like the Weasley twins. I glance over the parchment quickly, barely needing a second glance. I sigh gently as I place the parchment on my desk. I suppose I should be grateful that the handwriting is legible at least.

"In an hour you have managed to get to Ballthinton, Clarice – _The Algebra Behind the Scenes of Transfiguration_ ," I remark with raised eyebrows. "A whole hour to get to the second letter in the alphabet. So let's hear it, what is keeping you so quietly distracted that you can't focus on your more than deserved detention?"

The look that the two give each other this time is longer and apparently fraught with meaning. I can't interpret the look, but it doesn't take a mind-reader to interpret the jerky gesture the left hand twin makes, his hand almost convulsively out-stretched towards me. Finally, after a beseeching look the right hand twin steps forwards, clears his throat and then stops again. The silence continues to grow and my eyebrows continue to rise. What happens when I run out of forehead, I am not entirely sure.

"Sometime today would be appreciated, Misters Weasley," I remark dryly, pinning both of them down with my glare. "I have better things to do than simply stare at you all day."

Without a word the other twin steps forward to join his brother, his presence clearly acting as a confidence booster or perhaps merely moral support.

"What we have to tell you concerns something very strange…"

He begins, without the usual glibness or confidence that I am used to from these two. My eyes narrow as I look between them; the repeated glances between each other and their feet, the scuffling of the left hand twins foot, the right ones hand rubbing his robe pocket almost compulsively. Something's not right here. Something is not right at all.

"And yet in telling you we reveal another crime worthy of at least a month's detentions…"

The left hand twin continues, no more smoothly than his brother, and the grin that I am used to seeing on two identical faces is nowhere to be seen. Something about their mannerisms, about the unusual seriousness in their tones and their faces has caught me. I pride myself on knowing my house and the attitude from these two is setting all of my alarm bells off.

"And we will lose us an item very close to our hearts indeed."

The silence grows once more and I get the distinct impression that both boys have decided that actually they would prefer to be anywhere but here and having any conversation than this. Their reticence alone concerns me. These are not boys known for their tact, subtlety or shyness. Whatever they have to tell me is not something they want to be discussing. But why?

"If I promise that no further detentions shall be issued in response to any confession related to this… strange occurrence?" I remark more gently than previously, watching my two charges carefully, expectantly.

A fear of future punishment may be the reason behind their hesitation, although trouble has never bothered them overly much before. But even with my promise, their matching grins do not re-surface, the left hand twin continues absent-mindedly biting his lip, his brother simply staring at my desk with a strangely hard look on his face.

"A problem shared after all is a problem halved, as they say," I continue.

"Is there a spell to make you completely invisible?" The twin on the right finally asks after another fraught silence, his eyes utterly serious as they meet mine. "Like permanently invisible?"

My eyebrows must have climbed into the roof at this question. If these two young terrors think that I am letting them in on any way to become invisible whatsoever then they have lost what little brain cells they have between them. Even the suggestion that they might learn how to become invisible whilst they are still walking the halls of Hogwarts is horrifying. The mere thought sends shivers up my spine. We have more than enough problems with that Merlin benighted poltergeist without the addition of invisible twins of chaos. It doesn't bear thinking about.

"And kind of formless?" The other one adds in a slightly smaller voice, his eyes flicking between his brother and me uncertainly. Looking closely at both of them I realise that neither of them have a trace of a smile on their faces and their eyes are more wary than mischievous. "Like you can stick your hand right through them?"

But all my mind can think of is the kinds of mischief that these two could manage to get up to if they actually managed to become invisible and formless. Not a single student, Professor, house-elf or even poltergeist would be safe from them again. There would be utter bedlam. It would be like James Potter and his Invisibility Cloak all over again. By his seventh year any Professor with half a brain was using near constant non-verbal Revelio charms every time they turned a corner just in case.

"I'm afraid the only way I know of to become both immaterial and invisible is to leave this mortal realm and have the imprint of your soul immortalised on this world," I reply sardonically, with one raised eyebrow. "That I would suspect is a step too far even for you."

Neither boy responds to my tone or my expression though. Instead they just glance back at each other and I can tell that it means something significant but I don't know what. Their heads tilt together till their foreheads are touching; something I haven't seen them do since their first year at Hogwarts. I can make out the words 'ghost' and 'they show' and 'could be' passing between them, but their attention is solely for each other. I seem to be forgotten opposed to whatever has caught their attention. Forgotten in my own office.

"Are you two going to fill me in on whatever it is that you have such a burning desire to discuss so privately?" My voice is unmistakably tart and both boys look up, the lack of their usual over-exaggerated hurt expressions on their face more of a wakeup call than anything else. "You are after all meant to be serving a detention, if you had forgotten."

Usually there would be identical roguish expressions on those two faces, mischief glinting in their eyes, dimples standing out against the smiles. Today those two faces meet mine with equally identical furrowed brows, bitten lips and concerned eyes. If I was asked to make a judgement call right this moment, I would say that I have two very worried boys in my office. And that isn't something I've ever said before about the Weasley twins. This year is certainly a year of firsts.

"Come on, boys," I say with more warmth in my voice, both my hands on the desk in as non-threatening a manner as possible. I am unsure how effective it is; after all, they are more used to a disciplinarian rather than a mentor. Not that it hasn't been called for over the years. "I can't help you if you won't talk to me."

"We think… We think that the Gryffindor Boys Dormitory has an extra person in it…"

The words come from the right hand twin in an explosive rush, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity I haven't seen in either of these two before. Well, unless they're plotting something extravagant. But if this is a prank then it's an extravagant one. And this sort of acting prowess is not something they've shown before, although it would not surprise me to learn they become more than competent little hucksters within a couple of years. They seem to have a flair for that kind of thing. Not that I'd ever mention that to Molly.

"And it's definitely not a student…"

The left side continues, his eyes in contrast to his brothers refuse to meet mine, steadfastly gazing down at his feet instead. It's the differences rather than the similarities that jump out at me; the lack of eye contact, the slightly more folded arms, the lines that his foot are drawing in contrast to his twins set shoulders and intense concentration. These two are normally so in tune with one another that even the smallest of differences seem to be three times as prominent.

"And we have looked absolutely everywhere…"

"And we mean absolutely everywhere…"

"Under the bed, in the covers, drawers, suitcase, everything!"

"Ronniekins is furious at us for messing up all his stuff whilst he wasn't there…"

"Which we don't mind that much…"

The right hand twin says and finally an evil grin splits his face. I never thought I'd be grateful to see that grin, but I have to admit it eases my heart somewhat even if I dread to think what mayhem they created in their little brothers dormitory during their search. But as quickly as it appeared it vanished. Once more his face is solemn and serious.

"But if some bloke is sharing our brothers bed…"

"Then why can't we find him!?"

The last was spat out by both boys together with equal amounts of frustration and annoyance but something seemed underlay both of those emotions. Worry, perhaps? These two were most unused to worrying about anything but getting caught in their latest mischief. It would be a novel and unwelcome sensation to them. That doesn't stop the entire tale from being baffling, not helped by the split narrative.

"Let's slow this down a bit shall we boys," I say firmly. "What do you mean that there is a bloke in your brother's bed?"

"Exactly what we've said!" The right hand twin exclaims impatiently. "Mums gonna kill him when she finds out!"

"Except, Fred, Professor McGonagall doesn't know how we know…"

The right hand twin who I can now place as Fred mutters something semi-audibly back to his brother. Providing they don't move too fast I ought to be able to keep track of them now at least. Small mercies indeed.

"And your Head of House is very interested indeed as to why you believe there is an intruder at Hogwarts," I remark somewhat acerbically. "And more so why you are certain it is a male when by your own admittance this 'person' cannot be seen or felt. Have you heard him perhaps?"

Another one of those looks passes between the two boys before Fred Weasley pulls out a large, square, very worn piece of parchment with nothing written on it and places it carefully on the table in front of me as if it was something precious. To my eye at least it looks like an old and bluntly worthless piece of parchment that would be best used as scrap paper before throwing it in the fire, but by the look on this young man's face, he would seem to be parting with his dearest friend.

"If this is one of your pranks boys," I cut in sharply. "I assure you that there are far worse fates than detention and your place on the Quidditch team is certainly not guaranteed."

George Weasley steps forward beside his brother and both boys pull their wands out simultaneously. My eyebrows rise but their attention isn't focussed on me, but on that blank parchment on the table in front of us. Even the veiled threat of losing their place on the House Quidditch team does not seem to have impacted them overly.

"On three, dear brother of mine?" George breathes gently, almost out of my hearing despite their closeness to me. There's a pained look on both their faces as they lower their wands towards the parchment. "One…"

"Two…" His brother breathes back just as soundlessly.

"Three…" I prepare a shield charm as a precaution.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," they chant solemnly in perfect unison as their wands gently touch the parchment together and to my utter amazement lines start appearing on the previously blank and apparently uncharmed parchment.

Like one of the intricate spiders webs that decorate the halls of Hogwarts despite the best efforts of Argus Filch, the thin lines spread out across the parchment from the point that the boys wands met in the middle. The lines criss-cross, blossom and twirl, joining each other and then fanning away into all four corners of the parchment as I watch in amazement.

I barely have time to even glance at the mass of lines and webs before bright green words in a cursive script spread out across the top of the parchment, not covering anything but jumping out at you nonetheless.

**_Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs_ **

**_Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers_ **

**_are proud to present_ **

**_THE MAURADER'S MAP_ **

For a moment my breath catches me in my throat as I stare at those four names, names I had heard only yesterday as an echo from all those years ago. I often wondered how James, Sirius, Remus and Peter, although particularly James and Sirius, seemed to be able to materialise from anywhere in the castle regardless of where you had seen them last. Now it seems I know, for in front of me is the most intricate map I have ever seen.

Every detail of Hogwarts is shown in close detail from the passageways and the stairways, the classrooms and infirmary. Every floor is there in more detail than I could ever have imagined being documented. Even the staircases periodically move in front of my eyes on the parchment, clearly mimicking the positioning of each one in real time. It's an astronomical piece of magical documentation, one that would be beyond the skills of all but the most proficient of wizards or witches. And still, there's more.

Throughout the castle there are hundreds of tiny ink dots moving around throughout the castle, each one with a name on them. I wouldn't know for certain whether it's completely accurate, but it doesn't take long to zero in on my own office and find that it does indeed have three ink dots to represent myself and the two Weasley boys. I bend over it in nothing short of awe at this marvellous document, the twins for a moment forgotten as I watch Peeves bounding around the library and Irma Pince in close pursuit, Severus prowling around the dungeons with two of the sixth year potions students perfectly stationary, likely in remedial classes to prevent them from failing their N.E.W.T's. Albus is pacing his study backwards and forwards like a caged tiger, young Master Malfoy and his cronies are heading in the direction of the dungeons…it appears to be a full and complete map bound to magical signatures of everyone in the castle.

As I glance back up to the twins, my eyes must show my utter amazement at what they have placed in front of me. This is absolutely astronomical. I have never seen a piece like it in all my days. It must be clever use of the Homonculous Charm to have created it in the first place, but for this to have been The Maurader's Map as it says, it must have been created in the 1970s. Perhaps as late as 1978 but most likely earlier judging from the boys antics at the time. The map could be a decade and a half old and the charm is still working perfectly. Filius must see this, it will make his century. Another glance over the map shows me passages into and out of Hogwarts which suddenly made sense of the ease with which the Weasley brothers seem to be able to bring Hogsmeade produce back into the castle.

"I can't imagine you'd bring this astonishing artefact to my attention if you didn't have a remarkably good reason," I say blandly. In fact I can't think of any reason they'd be willing to let this out of your hands short of well…anything. This map must have been like a dream come true to them. No wonder they're so adept at avoiding Argus or any of patrols that should have caught them. They wouldn't even need to be in Hogwarts to know exactly where everyone is. "So, ignoring for the moment how this came to be in your possession as I don't believe I wish to know, where's this man you were referring to?"

George turns the parchment around to face him and his brother and they both quickly scan their eyes across it, seeming to discard most of the names without spending more than a fraction of a second on them. Where it had taken me several minutes just to pick out Severus, Albus and Irma even knowing where they were most likely to be, these two had clearly found what they were looking for in seconds. George's hand carefully pointed out a cluster of dots heading away from the Great Hall and in the direction of the Main Entrance, presumably on the way to Hagrid's hut after dinner.

Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom and the boys are right. There's another dot sitting nearly on top of the young Weasley boy. My breath catches in my throat. Peter Pettigrew.

I sit in stunned silence staring at the map for several long minutes. Peter Pettigrew. The man we were discussing the fate of less than twenty four hours previously and I dismissed the claims that he might be alive as whimsical fancy. But if the Homonculous Charm in this artefact is as strong as I believe it would have to be in order to survive over a decade, it has to be right. Peter Pettigrew, Wormtail, is hiding in Hogwarts School of Hogwarts and Wizardry itself. The betrayer who cost Lily and James Potter their lives and Harry his parents is within spitting distance of me.

"Uh, Professor McGonagall?" George Weasley asks nervously. "Are you all right, Professor? You've gone as white as a sheet…"

Scooting hastily around the back of my table he grabbed the chair nearby and shuffles it behind me. I sit down heavily, still staring silently at the map in front of me as the implications reverberate through my brain. This map offers the best form of definitive proof I could have hoped for. A map which proves without a shadow of a doubt that Sirius Black is innocent, or at least innocent of the crime of blowing Pettigrew to the five winds because Pettigrew is alive. The rest can be proven in due course.

"Um, should we get someone for you?" The Weasley twin inquires, hesitation clear in his tone. "We could get Professor Dumbledore or Madame Pomfrey or..."

Glancing up from the map for a second I find myself looking at two very worried young boys, freckles standing out starkly on George's face as he dithers in front of me.

"…or…or…who else should we get Fred?" He looked at his brother helplessly

"Thank you for your concern Masters Weasley," I remark, climbing steadily to my feet. I glance between the map and the boys, Fred Weasley seems more stunned than concerned. Even they've never managed to make me speechless before, so this must be quite a coup for him. "But I will require no assistance from Madame Pomfrey."

Glancing back down at the sheet of parchment spread out of the desk in front of us, my lips tighten in anger. The boys back away slightly, behind the relative safety of my desk as if I am about to explode. From their perspective perhaps this is a reasonable conclusion. They of course have no knowledge of who Peter Pettigrew is, they see him merely as a potential threat to their brother, a strange bloke apparently following around, sharing his dorm and perhaps even sharing his bed. They have surmised it is not a student and have therefore assumed it is an adult and it no huge jump of imagination to suppose that I would be less than impressed at an adult male sharing an eleven year olds bed.

"Your brother," I start cautiously, peering at them intently. "He has a pet, doesn't he?"

"Yes, Professor McGonagall," George replies immediately. "He's got a rat. Scabbers. Been in the family for ages. Mum couldn't afford an owl like he wanted. So he inherited Scabbers from Percy. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Hmm, I am going to bring together some people," I remark far more calmly than I am actually feeling at this present moment in time, ignoring George's question completely for the moment. "You are going to stay in this room, with this map. You are not going to let it out of your sight, do you understand me?"

I wait for both boys to nod before I continue. The nods might be uncertain but they are there.

"You are to keep your eyes on the map and specifically on Peter Pettigrew," I say sternly, watching them both closely for any sign that they are not taking this seriously enough. For once in their young lives though, they are paying attention. "If he leaves your brothers side then you are to follow him." I see the enthusiasm lighting both boys eyes and quickly hold my hand up to forestall whatever they are thinking. "On the map only, you understand. You are not to put one foot out of this room, either of you. I am deathly serious."

Fred Weasley aimed a jaunty smile my way with a casual wave of his hand. George still looks a little more uncertain but I have no doubt that anything the twins do will be done as a pair. Even if one is slightly more uncertain, I have no doubt that will be easily overcome in the heat of the moment.

"Of course, Professor McGonagall," Fred's tone unconcerned and careless, but I have taught the Weasley's long enough to note that the enthusiasm has not disappeared from his eyes and there's a worrisome glint there. "Your wish is our command."

"I mean it boys," I reiterate seriously. One wrong move from these two could spook Peter and jeopardise our chances of capturing him to prove Black's innocence. Worse than that, if we're right the man blew up a street full of muggles in order to hide from his crimes; who can say what might happen to a group of school children if he felt cornered. A hostage situation at Hogwarts doesn't bear thinking about. "This isn't some prank or joke that you can wiggle out of. If I find you've disobeyed me in this, you're trunks will be packed and your parents collecting you from the front gates. You will not be returning."

Two jaws drop simultaneously in front of me. Identical astonished and disbelieving expressions meet my gaze but whatever they see on my face drains what little colour from their face. I'm not sure which is more of a threat in reality, the thought of having to face their mother with two packed trunks and an expulsion order or the thought of being expelled itself. Or perhaps a mixture of the two.

"This is not the moment to cross me, Misters Weasley," I repeat with a sharp gesture at the parchment, my tone harsh and serious. "Do as you are told. Keep an eye on that parchment."

I step smartly towards my fireplace although have enough common sense to fire a small sealing charm at the door to the office and a preservation charm on the bookcases. I have too much experience with these two to be overly trusting, even if I do think I've got through to them. Too much rides on Pettigrew not realising that his cover has been blown. Far too much is at stake to be trusting this the whims and desires of two thirteen year old boys. Particularly these two thirteen year old boys.

"I expect my office to be in one piece when I return you realise," I snap shortly over my shoulder as I step into the fireplace, stepping straight out into Filius' office moments later.

The little man looks in in startled alarm from a book that dwarves his stature as I step through his fireplace, wiping my feet sharply on the hearth mat reading _Any Fool Can Know, The Point Is To Understand_. A saying that I have always thought summarised Filius rather well; his hunger to understand is what makes him such a strong duellist and such a remarkable mind. It is both his mind and his arm that I am in need of now. There are few witches or wizards I would trust to guard my back against a known Death Eater; Filius is one of them.

"Minerva?" He greets me with no small measure of concern in his voice. Whatever he sees in my face clearly concerns him further. He bookmarks the volume hastily, leaving it on the seat as he stands and moves across the room to meet me. "I wasn't expecting visitors this evening. Is there anything the matter?"

"The world is falling apart at the seams, Filius," I respond with a heavy sigh, rubbing my temples. "Do you remember what Bathilda said about Sirius Black to Albus in his office?"

"How could I forget?" The smaller man responds with an uncertain frown at me, his eyes searching my face discreetly. "As a matter of fact I've spent some time researching the matter. I have scoured the records of all the trials during that period and although there were many Death Eaters trials, Sirius Black's records are not amongst them." His dark eyes lock on mine uneasily. "Without a trial, there is no definite proof that Bathilda is incorrect."

"That's related to what I…"

"Worse still," he cuts across my sentence, real indignation filling his tenor voice now and spilling over into the room, "according to Section 7; Chapter 6; Clause 4 of the Counter-Terrorism Directive the Ministry were well within their legal rights to imprison the man without a trial." His eyes when he looks at me are hard and forbidding. "They neglected to repeal the legislation in the aftermath of the Wizarding War however, which leads to legal uncertainty as to whether they still have the right to hold a suspected terrorist without further trial…"

"Filius," I interject when he pauses for breath. I know the look on his face well, given the opportunity he will proceed on the lecture of his choice for the next half hour. Often fascinating and insightful but we simply do not have time for this now. "What would you say if I told you that it was Peter Pettigrew who betrayed the Potters and blew that street up ten years ago and is currently on Hogwarts grounds and possibly in the pocket of an eleven year old?"

Filius' dark eyes meet mine with an uncanny intensity, the academic interest dropping from his face and replaced not with shock or disbelief as I might have suspected, but something more akin to a sombre anger. I am not the only one who has lost faith in not only Albus but also the Ministry it would appear.

"I would say," his tone is soft and almost gentle, but I have known Filius far too long to be fooled by that. There is unmistakable danger behind those soft cadences. "That you must be in possession of key facts I have no access to in order to make such an accusation. And it is quite some accusation."

"Believe it or not, Filius," I reply, unable to hide the fraught tension behind my words, "the Weasley twins delivered the proof to my office not a half hour ago. I left them in my office with it."

"Alone?" His voice rises an octave and a half as he looks at me in utter disbelief. It strikes me as sublimely ridiculous that he could believe that a man we all thought dead for over a decade is not only alive but in Hogwarts with barely a second glance, but the thought of the Weasley twins unsupervised in my office is enough to bring him out in a cold sweat. "Have you lost your mind, Minerva!?"

"Unfortunately not, Filius," I respond dryly. "The world would be a more genial place if I had, I fear. You are however correct, I would never normally dream of leaving them alone in my office. Unfortunately, the alternative had the potential for unmitigated disaster and unforetold consequences. At worst well…"

I don't dare think of the worst actually. I could well end up redecorating my office if the twins did not pay heed to my warnings as I left. At least the collection of books will be unharmed though; and there are the paintings to keep an eye on them. Although having sealed the door, anyone they went to fetch would be unable to enter. A similar line of thoughts are evidently running through Filius' mind as well, as he's moving us steadily towards the fireplace as we speak.

"There are two messages I need to send that I don't wish the Weasley boys to hear, Filius," I remark with an outstretched arm, stopping him from moving closer to the fireplace. "I didn't wish to concern them further than is necessary at this early juncture. A Patronus charm is the quickest way. If I send a full message to Madam Bones, would you do me the favour of sending a brief message to Remus Lupin?"

"Of course, Minerva," Filius replies, his brows deep in puzzlement. That is not a look one sees often on Filius' face and if the circumstances were not so dire it is one I would savour. "But why Remus Lupin? What does he have to do with this?"

"You'll understand soon enough, Filius," I say, with my first real smile since this whole mess started. I want to be there when our Charms Professor lays eyes on that map, it will be a sight for sore eyes. "Could you just send that ' _Peter Pettigrew is present on the Marauder's Map'_."

"That's all?" His expressive eyes are glinting with curiosity now, his Ravenclaw brain clearly whirring at a thousand thoughts a minute, but I don't think even Filius could put together this from the few hints he has been given. "Nothing else?"

"That will be quite sufficient," I respond with an easy smile. "Remus will not require anything further, of that I am certain. Oh!" I remember with a start. "Request that he enters via floo if you would. I want to see what Fred and George do when faced with a twelve Auror squad and a locked door…"

The grin Filius returns to me is something to behold.

"Hogwarts Turris Magnus will never be the same again."


	30. Mischief Managed

Filius was poring over the Marauder's Map within seconds of entering my office, which somewhat miraculously was still intact. I will of course do a full sweep of the chairs, drawers, cupboards and bookshelves for anything the twins had decided to leave behind once this mess has been concluded. For now, I think I'll simply prevent anyone sitting on the chairs. That ought to solve the problem.

"What a remarkable piece," Filius mutters under his breath, his nose virtually touching the map as he examines it. His finger hovers mere millimetres above the parchment as he follows stairways and passages, inspecting every last detail. I smile wryly at the care and consideration shown in his handling; considering the map has spent I dread to think how long in the pocket of a Weasley I'm sure it could cope with Filius touching it. "An ingenious mixture of cartography skills and a strong Homonculous Charm then merged with a permanent Tabula Charm for the staircases and inanimate moving sections of the castle. Absolutely ingenious. I have never seen anything like it in all my years at Hogwarts!"

"A Tabula Charm, Professor Flitwick?" I ask curiously. I'm sure I have come across the term before but I cannot seem to bring it to mind, which suggests it's a particularly arcane or out-dated incantation which has passed me by. "Your knowledge proves superior to mine, I fear. Would you be able to explain the spell for me?"

"Oh certainly, Minerva," he exclaims rather distractedly, his usual interest in explaining something new to a willing volunteer dampened slightly by his overwhelming curiosity about the map in front of him. "Give me just two seconds…"

The twins look at me with a bewildered interest that I can't quite understand, until I realise how peculiar it must seem to them that their Head of House didn't recognise a spell. They'll learn some day that the world holds far too many mysteries and intricacies for us all to be masters of everything. The world is a far more harmonious place when everyone is able to accept someone else superior skills in a subject.

"Ah, the Tabula Charm, Professor McGonagall," Filius finally looks back up to me with something akin to a schoolboy grin, remembering to use my title in consideration to the students in the office this time. "A very idiosyncratic spell, very rarely used and little is known about it. It has such a very limited use you see. The name comes from the Latin, _Tabula Rasa_ , which translates to something akin to 'Blank Slate'. The idea being that in times of old maps would be drawn onto a blank piece of slate or even wax which wax repeatedly wiped and reused."

I reflect how astonishing it is that the different fields of academia so often interlink and weave together, meaning that you are unable to get a full picture of events without looking at the larger picture. In this case it is not just the Latin language but at least partially muggle history that is required, as is often the case with Latin vernacular, and also wizarding theory, for this is not a spell which is taught in the modern curriculum.

"The reason it is so little known in the modern day," Filius continues as if he is reading my mind, "is that it was very little known even several hundreds of years ago. You could go through the entire Hogwarts library and find less than a handful of references to it, and perhaps one of those would be in any level of detail. It's a mapping spell, but only useful when the area that is being mapped regularly shifts or changes…"

"Like Hogwarts does!" Fred bursts out excitedly. Or at least I assume its Fred, providing they haven't switched sides in the time I've been gone. "So it works like the people tracking charm thing does then…but with the building instead?"

"You've very nearly got it, Mister Weasley," Filius replies, real enthusiasm lighting his eyes as he turns to his newest victim…ah, student as he expands on his topic. "It works in a similar fashion to the Homonculous Charm, which by the way is merely a variant spelling of Homunculus which is a term used to refer to any form of human being. Obviously, this is not a true representation of the extent of the spell since of course Mrs. Norris, Peeves and the House Elves are present on the map and none of them are human. The Homonculous Charm tracks the magical signature or residue of any significant being within the boundaries of the map. Of course when the terminology for the charm was created, only humans were seen worthy of mention."

A clear my throat gently. Filius' levels of knowledge regarding even the most idiosyncratic and anomalous of spells is quite remarkable, but the man is prone to getting carried away by his own explanations on occasions. He glances up at me with a slight smile, before continuing on the original topic that was being discussed. The light roar of the floo is missed by all but me.

"The Tabula Charm is linked to the magical signature of the castle and grounds. You could of course do it with any building or area, but it would add nothing to an existing map of a stable and stationary area. It would have to exist for centuries before any deterioration would show on the map, and the map would be likely to have disintegrated before then unless preserved carefully and cared for. However with a building like Hogwarts, the Tabula Charm is perfect. It constantly refreshes itself with the current nature of the castle which is how you can see the moving staircases."

He looks at Weasley twins with an excited glint in his dark eyes.

"So, wherever did you find this extraordinary map, boys?"

The silence stretches on for a long moment, before there's a soft, low chuckle from behind Filius and the twins. There's a moment of absolute chaos as all three, Professor and student alike, whirl around fast enough for Fred and George to become entangled in each other's robes and go crashing with a resounding thud to the floor. The low chuckle becomes a guffaw and the boys clamber to their feet in a most ungainly fashion, muttering something under their breaths that I have no intention of straining to hear.

"From somewhere deep in the depths of Argus Filch's office, I would take a wild guess." The highly amused voice of Remus Lupin answers the question that the twins were unwilling to as his amber eyes shine with something akin to delight. "I'm glad to see that the thing wasn't relegated forever to the depths of those dusty old drawers like so much else of our old gear must be. The Tabula Charm was my idea and implementation as a matter of fact, Professor Flitwick," he says, his eyes still alight. "It was my main contribution to the design and functionality of the map in fact. I hadn't thought anyone would recognise it though."

Watching the twins carefully over the next few moments proved to be a marvellous idea as their expressions were a pleasure to behold. The original pleasure that their 'newest and bestest friend' had arrived changed as Remus spoke to confusion and then into dawning comprehension through stunned disbelief, finally finishing with something dangerously close to awe printed across both of their faces. Filius was clearly about to speak, to ask further questions of his student of old, but without warning Fred snatches the map out of the Charms Masters hands and thrusts it into Remus' unsuspecting hands with a cry.

"Close it!" He near yells with excitement and expectation heavy in his voice. "If you really created it you can close it!"

Remus cocks a single eyebrow at the two boys who are looking so expectantly at him. Finally, he gives a sigh which to my ears at least is one part exasperation, one part amusement and perhaps one part pride. I keep being reminded recently that although he was the most sensible of the Marauders, he was still a Marauder. He certainly played a part in the creation of this extraordinary document. Being recognised for that, even if it is over a decade later has to be something to revel in. He slowly draws his wand, keeping eye contact with the two boys the entire time.

"Mischief…" His voice when it comes is a slow drawl, his gaze never leaving the youngsters in front of him. They are transfixed, almost hypnotised by those flickering, golden flecked amber eyes. "Managed."

And the room explodes into loud, unrestrained and catastrophic chaos. Or at least it seems like it to myself and Filius standing and watching. The map of course silently turned back into an unexceptional and unmemorable piece of scrap parchment. The Weasley twins however exploded into action with a terrifying intensity the moment the final syllable left Remus' lips.

"A MAURADER!"

I have no idea which one of them bellows the words, or whether they both bellow it simultaneously. They are moving too quickly for me to have any idea which one is which, let alone which is speaking. They are whirling and spinning around Remus as he stands utterly still in the middle of what is suddenly a hurricane of Weasley twins. Red hair is flying everywhere as they scream and holler like that Tasmanian Devil moving picture that one of my muggle born students once showed me when I came to take him to Diagon Alley.

There are three adults in the room and every single one of us is utterly spell bound by the display in front of us. None of us move, not one of us knows how to contain this seemingly unstoppable display of disorder and turmoil. The twins don't seem like children within in my control, they are more like forces of nature like a whirlwind or a tornado, a tsunami or an earthquake. And then just as I gather my senses enough to attempt to bring some sense to the proceedings, they stop. But they don't simply stop. Since when did the Weasley twins do anything simply?

They throw themselves to the floor in front of Remus, faces pressed firmly to my carpet and in place of the utterly frenzied chaos that had reigned supreme mere seconds before, there is a shocked and stunned silence. Whatever I was about to say vanishes into thin air, my words just seem to evaporate into nothingness. It is into this silence that the Weasley twins start knocking their heads against the floor in perfect unison. How I do not know. They are not even looking at each other and yet it is perfectly synchronised. And then they start chanting.

"We are not worthy. We are not worthy."

Monotonous, repetitive chanting. Something that would not seem out of place in one of those ritualistic ceremonies that the superstitious types of old used to partake in.

"We are not worthy. We are not worthy."

This is of course the scene that Amelia Bones and her squad of twelve Aurors step through the floo into my office. Twelve fully trained, on edge Aurors who have been told only that there is a suspected Death Eater on the loose in a school of defenceless children. The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement steps through my personal floo, with a squad of highly trained Aurors on my personal request, to a scene that would befit St. Mungo's rather than Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Not even the Weasley twins on a calling to chaos could miss the thirteen roars of the floo and at about the third arrival they had frozen. Unfortunately they had frozen in the same prone position on the floor, but at least they weren't acting like mental in-patients and only the first couple of Aurors had heard the fervent murmurs of the two boys. That's more than enough though. I want to sink into a hole in the floor. In fact I'm half tempted to create my own hole for exactly that purpose.

But there's nothing to do other that paste a smile to my face, hoping it doesn't look quite as forced as it feels and step forwards to greet Amelia. By the look in her eyes she can see right through me.

"Madam Bones," I say through only slightly gritted teeth. Stepping forwards with my hand outstretched, I meet the other witches eyes with an undeniable amount of mortification. "Many thanks for coming on such short notice."

"Second time in a year, Minerva," she replies with a wry smile and a pointed look at the still prostate figures on the floor. "At this rate the Ministry will be running Hogwarts you know."

"Proper lines of communication never hurt anyone, as you are aware Amelia," I respond in kind, a slight smile taking any of the sting from my dry tone. "And after all, Hogwarts role is to educate and of course to discipline recalcitrant students, not to catch unconvicted Death Eaters, let alone supposedly dead ones. The Aurors are far better trained for such a purpose."

"AURORS!?"

Both twins spring to their feet with such alacrity that at least one or two of those highly trained professionals jolt slightly and move towards their wands. Amelia clearly has put them on edge for this particular assignment and I smile as I note them relaxing at the realisation that it is merely two relatively harmless teenagers. One of the few occasions the Weasley twins can truly be called harmless; it only took being surrounded by an entire squad of Aurors for that to be true.

"DEATH EATER!?"

They both bolt for the door in a highly undignified scramble and one of the Aurors has his wand released from her sleeve within seconds. Common practice for one Auror to be delegated this duty. Stunning a witness before they bolt and cause mass panic in the surrounding area is an acceptable measure, considering the worst effects involve a stunner migraine. The entire squad firing stunners however would not only be messy and unprofessional, which is of course to be avoided, but also potentially more dangerous. Twelve stunners to a weakened heart for example could cause significant complications. The slight shake of my head is enough for him to lower his wand immediately.

These two are my responsibility within school grounds. Whilst the Auror will not hesitate to act if he believes that they put their scheduled assignment at risk, within the confines of my office they are of little threat. I catch Filius' eye just as the two boys reach the door and pull, frantically straining against the stubbornly locked door which refuses to move despite a hurried Alohomora from one of them.

Fortunately they have enough sense despite their panic not to try _Portaberto_ or worse still _Open Sesame_ on their Head of House's office door. They might of course simply not be aware of the alternative methods of opening a door, of which I should be grateful. The results would not have been pretty. My door would have been fine mind you, the desk opposite perhaps less so. I am unsure whether it would cope with the combined weight of two third years raining from the sky upon it.

Finally after several moments of scrabbling frantically at an unyielding door, the twins turn around to face the rest of the room, smiling somewhat sheepishly at sixteen gazes fixed upon them. Backs pressed firmly against the wall they do a strange sideways crab like shuffle until they virtually are hidden behind me and Filius. Well, behind me anyway. The twin on the right is a good head and shoulders above the top of Filius' head so this technique doesn't work quite as well as they might have hoped.

"Dare I ask you to explain your actions?" I remark acerbically, raising both eyebrows pointedly.

"Ah…ummm...yeah…Fred?" George stutters uncertainly.

If looks could speak, Fred Weasley's glare would be screaming 'WHY ME!? To the heavens. After shooting his twin a further betrayal glance, he looked across the rather impressive array of magical power in my office nervously.

"I'm fairly sure we haven't done anything that would warrant this many Aurors," he began in a jaunty tone completely at odds with the slightly panicked look on his face. "In fact, our feats of evil would have to have been downright heroic to rate a whole twelves Aurors at one time…"

"And we're good," George chimes in, a little of his normal colour returning to his face so the freckles don't stand out quite as impressively. "But I'm fairly confident that we're not that good…"

"Yet," Fred continues in that inimitable Weasley fashion of never quite finishing a sentence on their own. "But just think how many…"

"..toilet seats we'd need to explode…"

"…to attract a single Auror…"

"…let alone twelve of you strapping gentlemen…"

They're back in their stride which means it's time to break up this happy little gathering before they get too comfortable. I haven't missed the entertained sparkle of Remus' eyes at how quickly the two pulled themselves together and even a couple of the Aurors have ever so slightly upturned mouths that might just about pass as a semi-smile. I doubt even James and Sirius would have managed such a smooth recovery in third year…by the time they were eighteen, maybe. But very little indeed daunted those two by the time they were eighteen.

"…and ah, gentlewomen?"

"That'll be quite enough, boys," I say before they go too far to easily recover. "You have probably realised that the reason I have called Madame Bones and the Aurors is because of that map you brought me."

"You mean Peter Pettigrew?" Fred asks guilelessly, and I doubt he missed the flinch from both Remus and Amelia. There is nothing Amelia would like more I fear, than for this to be a simple case of mistaken identity. Remus on the other hand, knows better. "The fellow we that was sleeping in ickle bickle Ronniekins bed?"

"Is he a Death Eater then Professor?" George chimes in with a most unbelievable innocent expression on his face. "Does that make us hero's for finding him?"

"Do we get a reward for helping in his capture?" Fred pipes down at my vehement glare, but not before a final parting shot. "Can we watch when you tell our mum?"

"Enough, boys," I growl more fiercely. "Can you show Madame Bones the map that you showed me, please?"

"Certainly, Professor." They respond as one, bounding up to Remus and plucking the map back out of his fingers with a dramatical flourish. "It would be our honour."

The map was once more laid out on my desk with great care and attention shown to smoothing out imaginary creases. I swear I'm not imagining the creeping smiles on at least half of the Aurors faces, I know I'm not imagining Remus' amusement. Two wands point down once more at the parchment as two voices join once more together, although with more gusto now that they have an audience.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!"

And this time I watch the expressions on the faces around me as the mass of lines and webs once more explodes from this ordinary looking piece of parchment. From the obvious yearning to be able to study it stamped all over Filius' face, to the surprised awe from Amelia and the slightly wistful pride that emanating from Remus, it's an interesting show. This time however, the twins are less concerned with showmanship and two fingers are almost immediately pointing straight down at a jumble of dots and names on the page.

"There!"

There's a slight jumble of confusion as several pairs of feet all try and arrive in the same square foot of floor and several necks all crane over the map. I breathe a sigh of relief that Peter Pettigrew is still actually present on the map. Explaining this to Amelia otherwise wouldn't even bear thinking about. But the little group of students are still clearly there and Pettigrew is still with them. Whilst we've been dithering and waiting on responses from the DLE and Remus, they have made their way down to Hagrid's Hut and the group is clustered inside the hut, almost on top of each other.

"And you are sure this map is trustworthy?" Amelia asks me pointedly. I certainly can't blame her for checking, after all it would be as much of an embarrassment to her if she went chasing after a figment of my imagination. "It is definitely accurate?"

"It's accurate, Madame Bones," Remus cuts in firmly, solemnly. "The map is never wrong. I can swear to that on my life."

"How so?" The stern and forbidding witch asks archly, eyes now fixed on Remus who to his credit refuses to flinch before them. "What knowledge do you have of this artefact?"

"It's my Tabula Charm, Amelia," the younger man replies with a faint weary smile. "The Homonculous Charm is James Potter's handiwork. The credit for the cartography goes mostly to Sirius Black as he had the best drawing hand, despite his lamentable attention span. In fact that one was of the main reasons the map took so long to create; Sirius couldn't sit still for more than twenty minutes for a time unless he was bribed with Firewhiskey. I believe it was also Sirius who was responsible for the Severus Snape repellent on the map as well…"

It's the look of nostalgic wistfulness on Remus' face that makes something strike home clearly; he's forgiven Sirius, or perhaps he's even realised that there was nothing to forgive. Amelia is looking more and more confused by the second, but the Weasley twins look as if their Christmas has come early.

"James Potter was a Maurader!?" George gasps in astounded awe. "You mean like Harry's Dad? For real!?"

"And you created a whole map which would repel Professor Snape!?" Fred chimes in in obviously delighted glee. "What does it do to him? Is that why he hates you so much?"

"Sirius Black?" George suddenly asks more slowly, his face showing a slow dawning comprehension. Fred turns to him in horror. "Isn't he the mass murderer? You mean…"

"No," Remus replied heavily, almost as if forgetting that he was talking to two thirteen year olds. Certainly forgetting that these particular two thirteen year olds have no off switch. "That would be Peter Pettigrew. His main role was to do quite a lot of scurrying through tunnels."

"To answer Madame Bone's perfectly reasonable query," Filius interjects over Remus' musings and the twins objections. "I would stake my career on the map being perfectly accurate. The Charms on it are as strong as if they were cast yesterday; there is no deterioration of the magical signature from the brief inspection I have been able to carry out. The map is doing exactly as it was originally charmed to do. Which means that Peter Pettigrew is indeed on the grounds of Hogwarts. How he is virtually on top of the youngest Mister Weasley without being noticed however is something I cannot answer."

"The Marauders were Animagi, Filius," I remark wearily. "To say I dropped the ball on this one is possibly the understatement of the century. Three of my students became Animagi on my watch, whilst still at Hogwarts I'll point out, and I had absolutely no idea."

"All three of them?" Filius asks in a somewhat breathy, startled voice. "I wouldn't have thought Peter had it in him!"

"James and Sirius helped him," Remus replies bitterly, every word laced with malign intent. "That proved to be the biggest mistake they ever made. He eventually mastered a rat form. Very appropriate in hindsight."

"You think…"

Fred Weasley breaks back into the conversation in a tone of stunned dawning discernment.

"…that Scabbers…"

The two boys look at each other with identical expressions of disbelief and confusion before turning back to me.

"…is a Death Eater!?"

Unfortunately for the twins they find themselves soundly ignored as we start to plan how we are going to deal with this threat on the grounds. With twelve Aurors and two masters of their respective fields it really should be child's play, but we've surely already learned once the effects of underestimating this man. A street full of muggles and an innocent man paid the price for the Ministry's complacency once. A group of school children are the potential collateral this time and we cannot afford mistakes. On that basis, much to their deep disapproval, the Weasley twins are staying safely in my office. My poor, poor office.

The plan is simple. The Aurors will fan out silently and unseen in the Forbidden Forest surrounding Hagrid's Hut. That aspect of the plan is out of my hands. The Aurors are after all the professionals and it would be the height of disrespect to question their abilities. They will stay close enough to act but be far enough away to be unseen and therefore raise no undue alarms too early. Amelia will be close to me but still and under a Disillusionment Charm, only acting if something goes seriously wrong, otherwise her role is that of a human recorder and that her memories can be used in the Wizamagot. An unimpeachable witness.

Myself, Filius and Remus will go down openly to Hagrid's hut on the apparent excuse of Remus sharing a photo album with Harry and Filius discussing exam preparation with Miss Granger. There's a quick interlude whilst Remus actually fetches a photo album, after all in his own words, he'd hate to disappoint the boy. The aim is to separate the group if possible, drawing Mister Potter and Longbottom along with Miss Granger away from Mister Weasley. Reducing the number of potential hostages by three. I will keep Mister Weasley as far back from the other youngsters as possible without raising too many suspicions. My main responsibility however is to reverse the Animagus transformation, giving the Aurors a far larger target.

We attract more than a few odd glances from staff, student and portrait alike as we walk through the castle. Particularly taking the most direct and quickest route possible, it is impossible to avoid the traffic throughout the castle; it doesn't matter how many Stealth and Concealment courses the Aurors took, there is no way to hide twelve professional Aurors marching through the corridors of Hogwarts. Albus will be aware of this by the time we have reached the edge of the grounds if not before. With any luck it should all be over almost as soon as it begins.

The walk down through the grounds to Hagrid's Hut is understandably tense. My heart is thudding painfully in my chest as we walk in virtual silence, the only sounds being the snapping of twigs underfoot and the breathing of a large group walking. And then suddenly without any sign of their presence or trace of where they might have gone, the entire Auror group vanish. Except for a sudden awareness of their absence, I didn't notice a thing. The small remaining group of us continues quietly down to Hagrid's Hut, more than aware of just how much could go wrong.

Finally the three of us are clustered around Hagrid's door and I am nominated to the role of knocking by dint of experience, placement and sheer bad luck.

"Hagrid!" I bang on the door loudly, setting off a round of barking from within the hut. I wave Amelia backwards as if there's one thing a Disillusionment Charm will certainly not stand against, it's fifteen stone of dog planted squarely on the wearers' chest. "Have you got a group of my Gryffindor's in there by any chance?"

The huge door opens onto Hagrid's equally massive form and there's no point in attempting to peer past him to see whether the students are indeed inside. Firstly, I know they are but secondly, and perhaps most importantly, there is simply not enough space to see around him. His face splits into a wide grin at the sight of Filius, Remus and myself.

"Ah, Professors, Remus! Good ter see yer all!" He calls out happily, sweeping us all inside with a simple motion of his arm. We either follow his lead or fall over, the choices are that simple. "I weren' expectin' visitors yer see but there's enough cake ter go round!"

My students immediately stand nervously as we enter the hut glancing anxiously up at us, not that I can blame them. It's not every day that two Heads of house come and find you after class without any warning.

"Is everything ok, Professor McGonagall?" Miss Granger asks hesitantly, looking between Remus, Filius and myself. "We aren't breaking curfew are we?"

"Everything is fine, Miss Granger," I reply gently, smiling at her obvious sigh of relief. "Remus here simply has a photo album of Mister Potters parents that was interested in sharing with you…"

"And I have the practice papers for the first year mock Charms exam after Christmas," Filius interjects smoothly at just the right moment. Miss Granger's head whips sideways hastily and all her attention is now focussed on Filius. She really does have the head of a Ravenclaw. "I thought perhaps you might like to accompany me to my office Miss Granger and I could run through them with you."

"Oh, that would be wonderful, Professor Flitwick," the young girl practically gushes with excitement and Filius smiles benignly at her. "Do you have time now? I mean, otherwise any other time would be brilliant, any time at all."

"Hermione," Mister Weasley interrupts rolling his eyes in exasperation. "It's months until the exams! Can't you just enjoy yourself for a while?"

"Don't you know how important these exams are, Ron!?" Miss Granger snaps straight back at him and I have to stop myself from smirking at her indignant tone. "If we don't get decent grades then we won't be permitted to graduate to second year! Can you imagine having to go home to your parents and telling them that you're really sorry but Hogwarts won't take you back next year?"

"But you already have the highest grades in the year!" Mister Weasley replies in an almost pleading tone. "It drives Draco insane!"

"But I wouldn't have the highest grades, Ronald Weasley," Miss Granger responds snippily, drawing herself to her full height; an act that loses some of its impressiveness because she doesn't have the height or build to carry it yet. "If I didn't study hard to get them. And then what would Draco Malfoy say? I'd just be proving him right that purebloods are better than muggleborns!"

"You're the…" Ron begins, only to stop with a strangled squeaking sound. From the look on Mister Longbottoms face I would assume that Mister Weasleys foot is feeling a little bit squashed right this moment. "Ah…"

Miss Granger is already standing and bouncing on the balls of her feet as she looks pleadingly at Filius. I hope he really does have some mock papers to show the girl; she may be more disappointed than even Mister Potter would have been if Remus hadn't thought to actually get his hands on a photo album.

"Come along then, Miss Granger," Filius responds once he's certain the children have finished bickering with an enthusiastic smile. "We can go up to my office now if you like?"

The group automatically moves with Filius and Miss Granger, particularly as Remus is also heading out of the door. I suspect he's feeling somewhat claustrophobic; this hut really isn't intended for this sheer amount of people squeezed in. Hagrid looks disappointed as all of his guests disappear out of the door at once and I have a brain child.

"You don't all need to abandon poor Hagrid you know," I say innocently. "Mister Longbottom can at least finish his tea perhaps. You can join us in my office shortly?"

"Yer can't waste your tea, Neville," Hagrid chimes in cheerfully, slapping the boy across the shoulders almost hard enough to push the boy's nose into the strangely dainty cup for its size. "Wha' d'yeh say to that?"

Mister Longbottom gives his friends a decidedly martyred glance as they all troop out of the hut without him; unfortunately for him none of them are looking back to notice. Mister Potter is following Remus like a puppy and Miss Granger is happily nattering Filius' ears off about all of the various preparation she has planned for the exam and how she hopes it will be enough. From the sounds of it she has put in more preparation for the first year exams than many of our fifth years put in for their O.W.L exams combined.

Feeling only slightly guilty for my part in this subterfuge, I follow the rest of the group out of the hut and aim a mild tripping jinx at Mister Weasley's feet. Unprofessional? Oh and then some, but just occasionally the ends justify the means and I'll have to apologise to the boy afterwards. Having put very little power into it however I am hoping Mister Weasley doesn't recognise it as a jinx; there's enough chance of catching your feet on something after all. The jinx is enough to send him sprawling to his hands and knees though and as the ground around the hut is always churned with mud his hands and lower robe are swiftly covered in the sticky mud.

I had hoped that the rat would fly out of his robes when he fell, but that would have been too much like good luck I suppose. I should count my blessings that I have actually got Mister Weasley separated from the other students so easily. He clambers to his feet awkwardly and immediately wipes his hands on the front of his robe, as seems to be the habit of young boys everywhere in my experience. Muttering something that I have no doubt Mrs Weasley would not approve of, he fumbles in his robe for his wand, waving a concerned Harry onwards with a yell that he'll catch up in a minute.

In a real stroke of luck though Mister Weasley finds 'Scabbers' before he finds whatever else he is actually looking for and thrusts the rat at me with muttered distracted thanks. He's paying absolutely no attention to me as I step back several long strides and point my wand at the rat held firmly in my hands. I've started the incantation to counter the transfiguration before Pettigrew seems to realise what is going on and starts struggling to get free from my grip. One of the real drawbacks of having such a small and weak Animagus form though is being utterly reliant on not being caught in the first place.

Its frantic squeals do alert young Mister Weasley that something isn't right, but the youngster is halfway through a cleansing spell and ends up distracted enough to soak himself through with water rather accidentally. In those fractions of a second that it takes me to complete the incantation the young Mister Weasley stands drenched and confused as his rat attempts to sink its teeth into my finger to no avail. My status as his Head of House stands me in good stead as I've finished the incantation before the young man even thinks to take a step forwards.

A flash of blue-white light erupts from my wands with such glaring intensity that Mister Weasley near falls over backwards into the mud again, Filius and Remus have stopped and turned back but both are in front of their allocated student, stopping them from running forwards. For a brief moment the rat appears frozen in mid-air, his small form twisting madly and I can almost sympathise; forced transformation from your Animagus form is apparently exceptionally painful. Not that Pettigrew deserves my sympathy. There's another blinding flash of light as the rat hits the floor and Mister Weasley is cut off sharply mid-bellow and left gaping in astonishment.

From where the rat had landed a head has shot up from the ground with limbs sprouting with alarming speed. Within mere moments a man is standing where the rat had been, cringing away from me and shuffling towards Ron in confusion, seeming almost unaware of his transformation. Without a doubt, it is Peter Pettigrew; older, fatter and balder but most definitely Peter Pettigrew. A man who has apparently been dead for the better part of eleven years. His eyes dart all around him as he crawls through the mud towards the boy, but he doesn't get any further than a scrabbled shuffle before strands of magical twine appeared from all directions.

Surrounding the now thoroughly trussed and wrapped the short, grubby man stood the twelve Aurors. Both Hagrid and Mister Longbottom have come out of the hut at the commotion and are staring at the strange human apparition that most certainly had not been there before. The Aurors however are taking no chances and have levitated the trussed bundle and have started marching towards the castle without waiting for orders or instructions from either myself or Amelia.

"Gallopin' Gorgons!" Hagrids' loud voice cuts through the stunned silence with ease. "That's Peter Pettigrew that is! But Sirius Black killed him didn' he!?"

"Sirius Black?" Miss Granger pipes up, glancing in obvious confusion between Remus, Hagrid and Mister Potter. "Professor Bagshot showed us pictures of a Sirius with you and Harry's dad…but she didn't say anything about him being a murderer…"

"Killed twelve muggles an' well…" Hagrid looks at the trussed up form that the Aurors are handling as if he can't quite believe his eyes. "Peter Pettigrew as well. Only thin' left was his finger! But if Peter's here then Harry's Godfather can' have killed him."

"I've got a Godfather?" Mister Potter asks in such a small voice that he can barely be heard. "He's a murderer?"

"He killed Lily and James!" Pettigrew shrieks loudly, frantically squirming in the bindings and trying to make eye contact with the boy. "Everyone knows that Sirius Black killed your parents, Harry! They trusted him and he killed them!"

"So why have you been hiding as a rat for over a decade?" Remus growls stepping forward further, towards Pettigrew and the Aurors. "Forgive me, but I have significant difficulty in understanding why an innocent man would spend ten years as a rat!"

"Because Black is still alive!" The rat-like man screeches, panic straining his vocal cords. "Black is still alive and I put him in Azkaban! Voldemort's supporters would kill me on sight! I never betrayed anyone!"

"Professor?" Miss Granger asks tentatively, glancing uncertainly between Remus, Pettigrew and Mister Potter. "What's going to happen to Mister Pettigrew? He isn't going to be hurt is he? If… if he is telling the truth?"

"Nothing bad will happen to Mister Pettigrew here if he is innocent, Miss Granger, of that you have my word," I assure her, looking with distaste at the trussed man. "He will be questioned under Veritaserum and will be tried and dealt with accordingly. If he is completely innocent of all crimes, except the oddity of spending ten years as a rat and sharing Hogwarts students beds of course, then he will be released with no further questions."

"And if he's not…?" Mister Potter asks so quietly I almost don't catch it. "What happens if he is the one who betrayed mum and dad?"

"Then I will do everything within my power to ensure he is given to the Dementors, still squirming like the rat he is," I remark coldly gaining a strange look off both Remus and Filius. Neither of them are used to seeing me so unforgiving. "He will rot in Azkaban like he left one of his best friends to rot."

Mister Potter takes a couple of steps forward, eyes on the trussed man who once knew and perhaps betrayed his parents to the death. I'm still looking at the young boy, not at the captive fugitive, assuming he is safely held by not one, not two, but twelve Aurors. I can't read what Mister Potter is thinking, don't know whether it's revenge he wants or comprehension. And in that split second perhaps an Aurors attention slipped, looking at the Boy Who Lived rather than focussing on the rat who got away, perhaps their attention faltered. Because a split second is all it takes for a disaster to start to unfold.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the magical twining around the bound man constrict but then seem to fall slightly slack. There isn't time for questions or blame, understanding and action seem to happen at the same time and I don't think I just react.

My body contorts and twists and the world comes down to ground level, objects further away losing focus, the colours and the rich details of the human eyesight disappearing and yet everything close gaining focus in this dark light that my human eyes have so much trouble with. Sounds and scents gain their full meanings once more and all of my senses are focussed on one thing.

I don't need to think, I can hear the slight scuffling of the grass where my prey has landed, I can smell his rat-human condition although rat is by far the strongest scent out of the two, I can see it scampering, racing, in the knowledge it is too small for the clumsy human aim, forgetting perhaps that the feline is the perfect hunter and he could never out run me. I crouch briefly, and then pounce, hind legs propelling myself into the air landing virtually on top of my hapless prey, claws extended.

Head down, my whiskers can sense my pray even if he's too close to be seen, I can smell his fear and with a side swipe of my paws he's in the air. Bolts of light seem to pass by the rat, red I think, and flick my tail with annoyance at the interference in my game. I started this hunt. I will finish the hunt. The rat is mine. I catch my prey as he falls to the ground, flicking him from paw to paw, waiting for him to try to escape once more before trapping him firmly with no hope of reprieve. Grabbing the rat briskly, I'm about to end this hunt once and for all.

"Minerva!" The call is sharp, brisk and demands my attention. Flicking my tail more briskly at this further annoyance, I turn my head sharply, prey still held fast in my jaws as I lock eyes with a pair of amber eyes. "He's no good as evidence if you break his neck!"

And the rest of the world comes back to me in a start. This isn't just prey, it isn't just a hunt. The rat isn't mine. I drop the squirming creature to the floor, batting it once more for luck and then pinning its tail down with a firm paw. The amber eyes smile at me, there's a whispered curse and the rat goes limp. Batting it once more with my other paw to make sure it's out for the count, I transform back into my human, dignified and respectable form.

"Twelve Aurors," I remark in a tone of sharp irony, "and it takes a cat to catch the rat?"

Aiming a more powerful stunner at the rat, in the knowledge that Remus had been exceptionally light on his stunner for fear of knocking me out in the nimbus of the range as well, I levitate the small, slumped form towards the Aurors. One of them quickly takes over the levitation charm and we begin a more leisurely stroll back up to the castle.

"Thank you, Remus," I murmur quietly to the man. "I had lost my sense of perspective for a moment."

"I thought you might've," he chuckles back to me dryly as Filius draws in closer. "You're more like James and Sirius than you'd have us believe…"


	31. An Interlude in the Chaos

Having ejected the Weasley twins from my office for the moment with my sincerest thanks and a promise that further explanations will be forthcoming shortly, I was now sat across from a far quieter and more subdued group of students. Amelia had left with her Aurors to ensure that Pettigrew was imprisoned safely somewhere that his rat form would not be able to escape from once the stunner wore off. In the full knowledge of how hefty a stun I had aimed at the man, I would anticipate him being out for a significant amount of time and waking up with quite a hangover. I certainly appreciated her caution however, we need the man present in order to potentially prove Sirius' innocence.

"I expect you have questions about what just happened," I ask the group as a whole calmly, keeping my expression as bland and unreadable as possible. There has been more than enough excitement for one day. "Ask anything you wish, I will do my best to answer fully and honestly. If I do not know the answer I will do my best to find out for you and if I do not believe you are old enough to hear something, I will tell you that as well. For this one brief point in time, you can ask anything you want."

Not surprisingly it is the young Weasley boy who opens his mouth first and I hold up a forestalling finger at virtually the same time Miss Granger elbows him sharply. I should have known that he of all of them would take that remark literally.

"I should stress that they should be relevant questions," I remark dryly, raising a single eyebrow expressively and pinning him down with a stare. The boy shrinks slightly as his eyes dart furtively down to the ground and his mouth snaps shut. "Do you still have something you wish to ask, Mister Weasley?"

Silence answers my question and I turn my gaze back to the group as a whole as they all look at each other, unwilling to be the first to speak. Looking across the group I can't help be struck by both the differences and the similarities between them, but how they have melded into such a tight team because or despite of them. Longbottom; pureblood with political and financial backing in the wizarding world, Granger; muggleborn with no experience or knowledge beyond her first few months at Hogwarts, Weasley; another pureblood but with none of the resources of the Longbottom family and Potter with the name, the wealth and the political influence but just as inexperienced and naïve as Granger with far more fragility. Such a combination to put together.

"Mister Potter?" I keep my voice gentle and watch as the boy's head darts up to mine, then glances across to Remus and Filius before coming back to myself. "Is there anything you would like to know more about? Your Godfather perhaps? Peter Pettigrew?"

"Would it…" He trails off uncertainly, head hunching into his shoulders. I stay quiet but smile reassuringly at the boy. He is gradually growing in confidence, but it's a slow, slow process. "I mean… Who is Sirius Black?" He glances up at me as if to gauge my reaction and then the next words explode from the child in a rush. "And how is he my Godfather when I've never seen him, I didn't even know I had a Godfather and why was I left with my aunt and uncle if I had a Godfather all this time, Professor, didn't he want me, why was he my Godfather if he didn't want me?"

The last was almost a mournful wail and he stops with a gasp as he runs out of air. Realising how much he has let slip in mere moments, fear overtakes his expression and the youngster cringes backwards as if expecting a blow. I say nothing, but kneel down in front of him, bringing myself to his level and drawing his gaze back to my own. His haunted green eyes meet mine with a mixture of fear, sorrow and rejection. No anger, perhaps that was trained out of the boy though all those years with his hateful relatives, but the heartfelt anguish he feels cannot be hidden. His eyes fly back to the floor as a single tear falls down his face and slowly, gently, I reach out a finger to wipe it away. He braces, but doesn't flinch and my heart goes out to him. The trust shown by his inaction is immense; mere months ago that movement would have him flying to the floor. We are making progress, he and I. Slow progress, perhaps, but progress nonetheless.

"Harry, look at me." The boy's head jerks up at my words, perhaps more from my use of his given name than my request, but those emerald eyes meet mine as I will him to see my sincerity. "Your father, James Potter, had two friends that he trusted more than anyone else in the world. One of them is in this room and the other was Sirius Black." Harry's eyes flick briefly across to Remus and his mouth opens as if to interrupt but he shuts it hastily. I smile wryly; he is the one student of mine I likely wouldn't rebuke for such an interruption, but then he is the only one who never does. "Can you remember the photos that Bathilda showed you?"

He nods almost imperceptibly, emerald eyes not leaving mine. Lily's eyes, in such a vulnerable young face. I fight back a wince as my leg muscles start to complain about the strain of the unaccustomed position but keep my expression encouraging.

"In any of those photo's, did any of those men look like they didn't want you? Or did they look like men whose lives revolved around you?" I ask gently, calmly. There's no response from the young boy in front of me, but his breath catches and lip catches on his teeth in a way that makes him seem even younger than he is. "You were loved by them all as a son. Your parents died to protect you…"

"They died…for me?"

New tears fill his eyes and spill unchecked down the boy's cheeks but now it is my breath that catches in my throat. I quickly scroll through everything I've said to him about his parents and yet I can't recall telling him how or why they died. And if I haven't, then who would have? Remus spoke only of happier times and Bathilda spoke of the love and bond between the family and friends. Who else would have told this young boy his heritage?

"They died to protect you." I feel the presence of Remus beside me as he too kneels to one side of the boy rather than seeing him, as I keep my eyes firmly on Harry. This is not the way he should have found out this news, his history, his legacy. "But you cannot feel guilty. James, Lily, myself and… Sirius were all open in the fact that we would protect you with our lives, our souls and our hearts. That was a choice we made as adults. It is a choice all parents make, although few have to act upon it."

Remus pauses, glancing at me to see if I have anything to input. I shake my head minutely; the man is doing a better job at explaining this than I could have done and I won't take this moment away from him. I don't know what went on behind closed doors, but it does not surprise me that the group had some sort of pact, spoken or unspoken, that their lives would be laid down for each other and for the child they loved so deeply. That is simply the kind of group they were.

"Nobody knows how you survived for certain, Harry," he says gently but firmly, golden eyes locked on the child in front of him. The silent tears on the boy's face are unchecked, but he gazes at Remus with something akin to hope and awe in his eyes, rather than shame, loss and fear. "But my instinct says that your mother was something to do with it. Not that James loved you any less you understand, but he never had the patience for complex incantations or fussy spells. Lily though, if there was anyone who could have found a way to protect you against all harm, regardless of the personal cost, it was Lily Potter."

The pride in Remus' voice at Lily's proficiency and knowledge, even all these years later, is clear as the light of day in his voice and I find myself having to blink back a slight mist in my eyes. He is right though; James, whilst excellent at transfiguration and combat magic simply did not have the patience or the heart for the complexities of charmwork and potion making. The raw talent he had in spades and he mastered some of the showier aspects admirably including the Patronus Charm. How much of that was done simply to be able to show off as part of his lengthy courtship however, is a completely different matter.

"So yes, your parents died for you," Remus finishes firmly, strongly and as he speaks I can't help but notice how he looks up to catch the Longbottom boy's eyes as well. His next words are clearly meant for both of them, although he tactfully doesn't mention Neville by name. "Your parents loved you so much that they put themselves in constant danger to protect you and the world they wanted you to grow up in. That is something to be deeply thankful for perhaps, but never guilty or shamed. That is not what your parents lived for or died for."

There's a hushed silence in the room after Remus' forceful proclamation with nobody seeming to dare breathe let alone move. Finally, Remus himself lets out a long breath and stands swiftly, moving back to his previous position besides Filius. I follow suit, at least in the standing aspect, trying to ignore the protests from my legs. I was expecting further questions from the Potter boy and am therefore startled when Miss Granger's piercing voice cuts across the reverent quiet.

"Professor McGonagall?" She begins hesitantly, waiting until I nod approval for her to continue. Muggle schools do seem quite effective at instilling discipline at least from my experience. Well, some of them. "Umm. If Mister Black is found to be innocent… What happens to him? Does he have any legal rights as Harry's Godfather?"

"An interesting point, Miss Granger," I reply with a smile at the girl who beams happily at the implied praise from her Head of House. "Unfortunately, I am not sure of the exact legal processes of removing someone from Azkaban although I can look into that for you. There would need to be lengthy rehabilitation and treatment to start with I suspect and so it would not be an issue for a number of years. I will investigate that further however."

"I also don't understand what you mean by Azkaban, Professor," the girl continues more confidently and certain of her ground now that she is asking a factual question with a definitive answer. "Or dementors. Is there a book I could request to give me more information?"

I have to stop myself from laughing out right at that last phrase. A Gryffindor with the head of a Ravenclaw, most certainly. I glance across at Filius who is smiling fondly at the girl. In the face of all the chaos and upset of the last few hours, Miss Granger is not to be deterred from having discovering a new bit of information and finding out everything she can about it. Some things never change.

"Dementors are a Grade 5 Creature and are covered on the defence curriculum in detail in sixth year for that reason, Miss Granger. In the interests of preventing you from having nightmares for the remainder of term, I would strongly advise you to leave close study until they are covered in class." I reply firmly, but with a tempering smile at the girl's obvious disappointment. "Azkaban is one of the magical prisons, the most highly secured magical prison in fact. If you traverse the Criminal Law and Justice section of the library, you will find many tomes relating to the place, but be aware it may be beyond your level and several items will be in the Restricted Section as anything dealing with dementors is sixth year and above."

The crestfallen look on her face however is enough for me to relent a little and gesture towards Filius. The man arches his eyebrows at me but says nothing, if he's exasperated by my obvious intent to offer up his time and knowledge, he hides it well.

"Professor Flitwick however has undertaken quite a study of magical law and the systems in place to uphold it," I offer Filius an apologetic smile as I let the sentence tail off, "and I'm sure if you ask him nicely…"

"Oh, please, please, please, Professor Flitwick," Granger breaks out excitedly, gazing imploringly at the diminutive Charms Professor. "I'd be grateful for any information you might think suitable!"

"I'll compile a summary sheet of the more advanced material for you, Miss Granger," his allows with a sincere smile at his pupil's enthusiasm. "If you want somewhere to start in the meanwhile, I'd try with _A Muggleborn Guide To: Wizarding Law and Institutions_ by Marigold Fine. In fact, you might find her entire series of work a rewarding study. I believe she has currently published fourteen works in total and is working on a fifteenth. I have been trying to get the Hogwarts library to stock them to little avail I fear. I have a copy if you'd like to borrow it, but Flourish and Blotts ought to stock copies."

Miss Granger looks as though Christmas has come early, rewarding Filius with an ecstatic grin as I contemplate the name Marigold Fine. I recognise the name but can't bring a face to it, although from Filius' comments I would suspect that she's a Ravenclaw and has him proof reading her finished work. Not that this would be much of an issue for Filius himself, he's always keen to follow him students through into their careers and help them where possible, particularly if their field is academia. The series isn't one I recognise however, although if Filius is recommending it then it is one I would do well to acquaint myself with in some of my manifold free time. There are after all precious few texts aimed solely at the muggleborns and I can see why the man is keen to have copies of any decent works in our library.

"Professor," the quiet but firm voice of young Longbottom attracts my attention and I look across to him inquiringly as there was no question mark implied at the end of that word. His tone is instructive rather than questioning, his faced is closed off and expressionless. "If Sirius Black is to be proven innocent by a trial of his peers, then he will be able to reclaim his rightful seat, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, as the last surviving male heir to the line. As one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, Lord Black would have an undeniable amount of influence."

His voice is slow and his words carefully enunciated, with no emotion behind them at all and yet the very fact that the boy chose this moment to make that statement means something. His phraseology is too formal to be the words of an eleven-year-old boy and pure-blood politics are not an area he has shown any interest in following. It is an area however he would have been closely schooled in by his grandmother and tutors, after all, the Longbottom House is one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight as well if my memory serves me correctly. This will have been drilled into his very bones. So why now? What is so important about pure-blood politics now?

Then it hits me in like a tidal wave. My young griffin is giving a sincere and open warning, carefully worded as mere history and in such a tone of factual disinterest that none of the other youngsters have picked up on it. I am certain that Miss Granger will have questions later, when she has finished contemplating the role Azkaban plays in wizarding society. With any luck that will be several months down the line. But the warning was to me and it is to not forget the impact and the importance of the pure-blood politics on the fate of Harry James Potter. As Godfather he may have certain rights, but as the heir of House Black he has influence.

Young Longbottom has immediately picked out the fact that Black, if sane after eleven years in Azkaban and perhaps even if not, could create a rallying standard for the pure-bloods with Harry Potter as the prize. He might not even do it deliberately. Longbottom named Sirius as Lord Black very deliberately. And it means that I am going to have to tread very, very carefully. Out of those twenty-eight, there are many who even some sixty years later have significant influence and they are likely to close ranks. If Sirius contests guardianship of Harry it will be a close run thing, even if he's as barmy as a fruit-bat.

"Thank you, Mister Longbottom," I respond gravely, giving him a rare appreciative nod, which to my surprise the boy returned. Now that I don't know what to read into. That was not the acceptance of a compliment from a tutor, nor was it in any way mocking or derogatory, that is not the boys style. That small interaction would not have seemed out of place from his grandmother, but seems distinctly unsettling from an eleven year old child. "I will certainly take your words into consideration and raise them where appropriate."

"So what's going to happen to Scabbers the-"

Ronald Weasley blurts out as he finally makes his brain and tongue engage to ask a relevant question, and I suppose it is a question he is owed a response to. After all, 'Scabbers' has been a Weasley family pet for as long as the Weasleys' have been at Hogwarts. You'd have thought they might have wondered how a common garden rat had lived so long, in hindsight. Granted, it never occurred to me to ask..

"Peter Pettigrew will be questioned by Aurors about his role in all those years ago and his potential loyalty to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. If our suspicions are correct and he is responsible for betraying Mister Potter's parents, then he will be tried in a full court of the Wizengamot for his crimes." I look at the red-head with a certain amount of sympathy; it can't be easy to discover that you've been sharing your bed with the man who led to the murder of your best friends parents. Mister Weasley looks decidedly green around the gills and his freckles are standing out alarmingly. "These are serious crimes, Mister Weasley, and must be dealt with fully. Pettigrew's guilt may well confirm Sirius Black's innocence."

"But didn't you Hagrid say that all they could find of Pettigrew was his finger?" Miss Granger asks in confusion. "Can't you just use DNA profiling to verify whether the finger bones belong to the living man? After all bone is one of the best sources of DNA from decomposed human remains."

Now it is my turn to look at my student in baffled non-comprehension. I glance across to Filius to find the same blank look of bewilderment on his face that I am likely mirroring. Miss Granger looks between us with a slight frown on her face and then turns to her friends who all look just as perplexed as I feel. Young Potter looks as though he is straining his memory for something that is vaguely familiar but both Longbottom and Weasley have mastered the artful shrug in the wake of their friends' knowledge. They are quite certain that she is about to inform them anyway.

"Haven't any of you heard of DNA profiling?" She asks with a sigh, looking around at a sea of blank faces. "It's one of the biggest technological and scientific advances of the last five years!"

She looks around the room in a sort of helpless desperation, but to me at least it's as if the girl is speaking a different language. This foreign word DeeEnAe is not something that I have ever come across and I certainly wouldn't have any idea how to write a profile on it. I suppose it to be some sort of muggle thing and I, like many witches and wizards of the last five hundred years, have very few interactions with muggles. In fact, my only interactions tend to be meeting the parents of the muggleborn students as they receive their invitation to Hogwarts. The majority of them are so overwhelmed by the sheer idea of magic, let alone the parlour tricks that I use to demonstrate the reality of this power we want to train their children in, that conversation is naturally limited.

"DNA is what… well, it's what makes you who you are!" Granger continues with obvious disbelief that nobody seems to recognise what she is talking about. "It makes up everything you are and everyone's is different. Your DNA is what makes you look like you do and is why your body parts work and well…I don't know how it interacts with magic. I don't think that's ever been tested. Tell them Harry!?"

"Well, they mentioned it at school I think…" Potter mumbles more to his feet than the room at large. "I don't remember much about it though…"

"Well, that's not an issue, Mister Potter," I interrupt before young Granger can open her mouth to castigate the boy. There were bigger issues at stake for him growing up than paying attention to classes, I suspect. "I'm sure Miss Granger is more than willing to enlighten us as to what help this DeeEnAe is to us now."

"If what Miss Granger says is correct," Filius interrupts, his dark eyes settling on the girl with academic interest as he speaks. "Then along with our magical signature which is unique to all witches and wizards, we also have some kind of physical signature bound within our body the way our magical signature is said to be bound to the soul. Do I have this about right, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Professor," she nods enthusiastically, glad someone is following what she is saying. "Can you trace someone though? Or perhaps link a hair to the person it was ripped from by its magical signature?"

Her tone is true interest rather than challenge. I suspect she believes this muggle technology can do exactly that which sounds absolutely absurd to me, but in typical fashion she is equally interested by what the magical equivalent can do.

"If you knew the person you were looking for, you could trace their magical signature back to them," Filius muses in response to her question, brows furrowed thoughtfully. "So for instance if Professor McGonagall here transformed into her animagus form and went into grounds, I would for a short time be able to follow her magical signature. I would be able to tell whether an item had been transfigured by yourself or Mister Malfoy by looking at the magical trace, at least for a short while. But I would not be able to trace a stranger. And I don't think I would be able to read a signature from hair, unless some sort of charm had been placed on it…"

"But everyone's is unique and individual?" Miss Granger asks, waiting for one of us to nod before continuing. "And it can't be faked or tricked?" Again she waits for Filius to shake his head. "So it's kind of like DNA. But because DNA is in every single part of the body, it can link blood or hair or teeth or bones to someone even years after their death. So if you even know where Mister Pettigrew's finger is buried, it can be used to either prove or disprove that the man you captured is the same man who was thought to have died ten years ago, Professor!"

The silence in the room is I believe a testament to the stunned disbelief that such a thing is actually possible. Of course there are numerous dark magics which require blood or other bodily fluids to work and hags are believed to be able to some sort of rudimentary magic with a person's hair although that may just be mere tales and fancies. But this, this takes that idea to a whole new dimension. To believe that everyone is made up of a bodily signature that could be traced from your hairbrush to your toothbrush is…well, it's absurd. But absurd or not, if it's true…it could change the world.

"How would this work?" Filius asks in tones of near wonderment, his eyes wide and sparkling with a fervour that could near match Albus himself. "What kind of magic could do this?"

"Not magic, Professor," Granger says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Technology. Scientific advancement. It's kind of like magic but with lots more hard work and less waving of sticks, I suppose…"

It says how engrossed Filius is in this new idea that he doesn't even rebuke the child over the idea that magic isn't hard work. Of course, to the muggleborns it often seems at first that magic is a solution to all their woes with nothing but a squish and a flick and well placed syllable. If only it were so simple. For every charm, spell and potion that works there are hundreds that don't. For every first year charm which can be done with a thought and a flick there are multiple variations with different effects and impacts. Even the levitation charm is one with at least twelve if not sixteen variances, each more difficult than the next and yet don't necessarily result in a better charm, just a slightly different one. Her statement is easy to make as a first year. I'll be interested to see if she repeats it by seventh year though.

"So we can't use it." This time it is Remus who speaks, his voice heavy with disappointment. "We have no way to make this science magic work…"

"You have magic!" The girls voice is strident and passionate, incredulity ringing in her every note. "You could walk into any muggle police station and ask them to do a DNA sample and they'd do it! You can do anything!"

"It doesn't quite work like that, Miss Granger." My words are stiff but my tone is gentle as I correct her. "The Statute of Secrecy is quite strict on the abuse of our powers where muggles are concerned I am afraid; both for their protection and our own. It's definely worth thinking further about whether there is anyway we can gain access to this te…tech… Ah, this new magic, however. Thank you, Miss Granger."

"Minerva, the Headmaster is on his way," a sly voice calls from one of the portraits, and I look over to find that Phineas Nigellus Blackhas decided to pay me a visit. "Thought you might like to know. Now, what is this idle gossip about my fool of a great-great-grandson?"

Filius, Remus and I exchange dark glances, although don't dare say what any of us is thinking in front of the youngsters.

Albus Dumbledore is on his way. Just what we needed.


End file.
